


The Mirror Man

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dating, Dementia, Denial of Feelings, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gender Roles, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Porn with Feelings, Rehabilitation, Rejection, Romantic Friendship, Secrets, Separations, Showers, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 98,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: When Prentiss took over the BAU, she knew there would be challenges. The job was tough, expectations were high, but mostly she was concerned about being a boss to her friends. She didn’t how much of a challenge it would be to deal with her best friend, Spencer Reid. Because the exact moment she stepped into her dream job was the exact moment his life fell apart, and no matter how she handled it, it would change how he saw her. But change is a two-way street, and she was completely unprepared for howhisdisaster would changeher…This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story contains adult themes, violence, discussion of addiction, and sexual content. It should not be read by those under the age of 18.





	1. Houston

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Deejaymil who read two early iterations of this story and convinced me that YES it absolutely needed to exist. So, it’s all her fault, really. Thank you, hon – you are a hilarious late night voice and ruthless enabler ;)
> 
> All science-related stuff has been shamelessly stolen from Wikipedia (because I’m nowhere near as smart as I’d like to be).

Prentiss never considered herself to be a typical boss. She never took a training course, never read the ‘how to’ manuals of great leaders, and she actively loathed every teambuilding seminar she was ever forced to attend. Up until the moment she accepted her position at the London Interpol office, she thought the idea of anyone looking to her for guidance as dangerously misguided. After all, if there were a right way to solve a problem she’d find another, far more problematic one and choose it instead, no matter the cost. And when she became a boss to her _friends_ she felt even less appropriate; these people knew all of her secrets. 

So when it came right down to it there were a lot of reasons why she blurred the lines with Reid. She couldn’t distance herself as Hotch had because they’d always been friends, and she couldn’t enforce a proper superior/subordinate relationship because they’d always been closer than that. And she’d always been overprotective of him - he was so habitually alone and absolutely terrible at asking for help, and she was constantly trying to change that. When he came to her after their case in Yakima and told her he needed to take care of his mom and then choked up as he confessed that he didn’t know what to do, she became distraught. He was finally _almost_ asking for something, but she found herself hesitating. She was his unit chief now - there were suddenly borders between them that she didn’t know if she could cross. Squeezing his knotted fingers and watching him struggle to hold himself together on the quiet plane, she wrestled with the right things to say. 

And then he was gone, for weeks and weeks with no contact, and she couldn’t banish his glassy-eyed fear and fragile isolation from her mind. She had things to do, a team to run, but at every available opportunity her thoughts drifted and she wondered if it was ‘proper’ of her to want to interfere. In the end, it was a casual comment by Garcia at a briefing about something that “Reid would know” which pushed her into acting. Everyone had their assignments and she slid back to her office, hesitating momentarily before picking up the phone and dialing the number she knew by heart.

“Spencer Reid.” He sounded a million miles away and exhausted, and it was only ten in the morning in Houston.

“Hey there, nerd,” she said too brightly and then wondered if she was interrupting something awful with her forced cheerfulness. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

“Oh… hey Emily,” he took a breath she could hear. “Everything’s fine here.”

 _Jesus._ She rolled her eyes at his voice over the phone. “You’re such a terrible liar, Reid. Still. I think you need to practice more.”

“Okay,” he sighed as if he were taking her suggestion under advisement.

“Hey man,” she tried again, softer this time. “What’s happening down there?”

“She’s… it’s really bad, Emily.”

Her forced playfulness evaporated at his quiet devastation. “Reid, is she-”

“It’s a 50/50 chance that she’ll recognize me from one day to the next.” His voice strained as if he were cutting off any emotional response before it got away on him. “And the Alzheimer’s regimen she’s on means that they’ve had to cut back on some of her mood stabilizers, so when she becomes confused she immediately gets paranoid and it triggers a meltdown. It’s like walking over cracked glass all day, every day.”

“Reid…” she whispered into the phone, wanting more than anything to pull him into a hug and tell him things would be all right, as meaningless as that statement was.

“Even if I spend the whole day by her side, sometimes she slips away from me. She’ll turn in the middle of a conversation and ask me when she can call her son.” His voice cut out bluntly and Prentiss assumed he covered the phone for a second, then he returned and sounded smaller, diminished. “I don’t know what to do with her now. I don’t know if she should stay here, or go back to Bennington… I don’t know what’s best…”

At the time she considered her impulse to go to him professional. A member of her team was in trouble and needed a hand. Her friend was suffering and she wanted to ease it. But when she looked back on everything, she thought that the moment she stood in front of her desk and wondered how soon she could get on a flight to Houston, it was the beginning of her irreversibly stepping over a line. She pushed aside the trappings of the position she’d worked her whole life to attain without a second thought as she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and felt the confidence of a plan falling into place.

“I’m coming down there.”

“Emily, no…” he sputtered.

“No arguments, Reid. It’ll just be me but we’ll figure this out together.” She was dumping things from her desk into her bag as she spoke. _Just a day or two. The Unit could live without her for that long._ “I’ll be there soon. Call you when I land.”

Then she hung up before he could object any further.

\----

The treatment center in Houston wasn’t what she’d expected. It was less a hospital and more like a retirement home. Most of the patients didn’t wear gowns and weren’t confined to sterile, blank rooms watched over by frightening machinery. Prentiss supposed that was something. She found Reid sitting in a large day room with Diana looking out through a wall of windows at the groomed gardens beyond them. Reid was hunched, curled close to his mother, watching her as she watched nothing in particular outside. She wore a small smile, but his face was a study in guarded worry, forehead creased, mouth drawn down, and with the deepest circles she’d ever seen under his eyes. He caught the movement of her approaching and looked up. For a second, the worry lifted and he smiled. He stood and met her in two, long strides.

“Hi,” he mumbled as she dipped in for a quick hug.

“Hey,” she breezed. “How’s it going?”

“Today’s not bad,” he whispered quickly. “Just try and roll with it if she engages with you.”

They both turned and Diana was watching them curiously. “Who’s this?”

“Mom, this is Emily Prentiss. You met her once but it was a long time ago. You might not remember.”

Diana frowned.

“It’s good to see you again, Professor Reid,” Prentiss added and then waved. Diana continued to stare without much affect or recognition.

“Ummm, Mom?”

“Of course I know who she is,” Diana snapped at Reid before turning to address Prentiss. “ _You’re_ the one he likes.”

“I’m sorry, the one who likes?” Prentiss asked when Reid didn’t do anything.

“My son,” Diana beamed. “I have a son, you know. He’s so clever. One day he’s going to be a great man… a great man… but he’s still just a boy.” 

Prentiss blinked, a little unsure of how to proceed. Next to her, Reid looked as if he’d been turned to stone at the exact moment he’d been told the worst news of his life. 

“My son doesn’t have many friends. Because he’s special, you see. But he’s mentioned ‘Emily’ many times. He says you make him feel ‘normal’. I don’t see the value in reaffirming mediocrity, but Spencer needs friends, so…” Diana looked at Prentiss again, more critically this time, and then gave her a firm glare. “You seem too old to be his friend. He’s just a boy. Why would you want to befriend a child? You wouldn’t hurt him, would you? I don’t espouse violence but I’ll kill you with my bare hands if you harm him…”

“Mom…”

“I’d never hurt Spencer, Professor Reid. Never.” Diana seemed to feel the sincerity behind Prentiss’s statement and relaxed a little. “It’s true he’s younger than me, but we’ve been friends for a long time. He doesn’t hold it against me.”

“Well, he wouldn’t. Age is inconsequential when minds and spirits are kindred. I’ve always told him that. I tell him that one day he’ll be an adult and no one will dismiss him because he’s small, or too thin…”

“Mom…”

“…one day the only thing that will matter is _his mind_ and everyone will want him then.” Diana smiled and rocked gently in her chair.

“Mom, I’m right here.”

Prentiss turned and saw Reid leaning towards his mother with his hand on his chest, anguish etched into his features.

“Pardon?” Diana blinked at him.

“Mom, it’s me. I’m Spencer.”

She looked him over and then shook her head, smiling benevolently. “Oh, my dear boy, no you aren’t. My son is nine and you’re enormous.”

Prentiss watched Reid quietly falter under Diana’s conclusion. There was a second when his face twitched as if he couldn’t hold back the sorrow any longer, and then it was gone, replaced by a frighteningly cheerful mask. Prentiss’s chest tightened as she saw it play out and wondered how the hell he’d kept it together for as long as he had.

“You’re right,” he said. “Sorry. Sometimes I get confused. I’m looking for my mom. She’s a little like you.”

“Well, you’re in the right place then, dear,” Diana chuckled. “We’re all confused here. Who is your mother? Perhaps I know her… I’m Diana, by the way.”

“Oh, umm… I’m…” Reid stared at the hand his mother offered him and went a little blank.

“This is Aaron,” Prentiss stepped in and stepped up beside him, bolstering his sagging frame with hers. “He’s a friend of mine as well.”

Diana shook Reid’s hand and he looked shell-shocked by it, and then Prentiss nudged him back down into the chair next to his mother.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron. Do you know my Spencer? If you’re both friends with Emily…”

“Yes,” Reid said distantly. “Yes, I know him.”

“Well, that’s fortuitous. If we wait long enough he’s sure to come by. He’s around here somewhere…”

Diana craned her body, searching for sight of her son. Prentiss peered down at Reid, heart in her throat and a terrible sinking sensation in her gut, but he was looking out the window at the gardens with the same disconnected gaze that his mother had worn minutes before.

\----

Prentiss felt that the day couldn’t end soon enough. She had almost no experience with the mentally altered, and none at all with the infirmed. By the time they got Diana settled in her room for the night, Prentiss was tired beyond all reason for someone who’d basically spent the day sitting and listening. She’d only withstood one day of this. Reid had been there for _six weeks_. She looked on his wiry, slouched frame as they walked to the parking lot and saw invisible steeliness to it now. If his emotional resiliency had muscles, he’d resemble an Olympic weightlifter.

Diana spent most of their visit talking about Spencer like an absent child. Reid said almost nothing in response, alternating between gazing out the window and watching his mother with undisguised sadness. It snapped something irrevocably in Prentiss: Reid’s love for his mom was so obvious, so replete, but he was watching it leech away leaving him alone in their memories together. Prentiss _knew_ what he was thinking. He was wondering who he’d be without her eyes telling him with their recognition and unrestrained pride. For all of her instability, Diana was Reid’s touchstone and one day very soon she simply wouldn’t be there. Reid would be untethered then, and that probably frightened him beyond reason.

In the middle of one of Diana’s meandering recollections, she turned to Reid and said, “Spencer, you’re far too thin. Are you eating properly?”

Reid lit up then and Prentiss could almost imagine the same expression on him as a gawky kid leaning towards the warmth of his mother’s concern like a fragile sprout. Prentiss bit her tongue hard to give herself something else to focus on and to keep the blurriness at bay in her eyes. Then Diana turned to her.

“Emily, why aren’t you feeding him?”

Prentiss blinked and then miraculously, she heard Reid chuckle beside her. “Mom, she’s my friend. She’s not responsible for that.”

“Yes, Spencer, she’s your _girl_ friend. She should take an interest in your nutrition.”

Then it was Prentiss who laughed in a hearty, rolling guffaw that quirked Diana’s eyebrows. When she looked over at Reid to share the moment, he was only smiling, his cheeks bright and his eyes flicking to and away from her quickly.

“Mom…” he muttered and Diana swatted him gently on the knee with a murmured ‘silly boy’.

It was as normal as they managed to get but it didn’t last. Less than ten minutes later Diana was actively looking for her son again and Reid slouched back into his chair, his strings cut. As dinner time arrived Diana became agitated that Spencer hadn’t appeared yet. When Reid tried to settle her, she struck out, unfurling a paranoid theory with escalating desperation that government agents had kidnapped him to use him for his ‘specialness’. When Reid tried to usher her back to her room, Diana screamed, “You aren’t my son! You’re part of it, aren’t you? You’ve been distracting me while they took him. He needs me - he’s only nine - he needs me!”

Orderlies appeared and gently manhandled her back to her suite as Reid stood and watched them go with tears in his eyes. She screamed “He needs me!” until she was shut into her room, and then a minute later a man in a white coat appeared and spent some time murmuring to Reid as he nodded listlessly. Prentiss didn’t know what to do. The whole scene had been deeply unsettling, but everyone around her took it in stride, even the other patients, as if this level of anxiety were simply to be expected around there. When the doctor walked away, she shuffled up beside Reid unsure of what to say or do. He didn’t react, just looking down at his ratty sneakers instead.

“Hey,” she said eventually. “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered after a long pause.

“Well, let’s try it and see, okay?” She slid a hand around the crook of his elbow and he looked up at her, eyes rimmed in red and face too pale to be healthy. His mouth thinned to a tight, white slash and then he nodded. She pushed them towards the parking lot and away from that awful place as quickly as she could without running.

Dinner had been a disaster. The restaurant was too loud and bright, and Reid just slunk down into the banquette and stared at his burger rather than eating it. Prentiss let it go on for about twenty minutes and then got exasperated at her own uselessness. She was supposed to be helping, not piling onto his misery. She tossed her napkin onto the table angrily and growled above the din of the other patrons. The reaction caused Reid to look up at her cautiously.

“What?”

“New plan,” she grumbled as she waved their waiter over and told him to wrap everything up to go.

They ended up in Reid’s hotel room, because she hadn’t managed to check in yet, and eating their greasy, half-cooled meals with a mix of fervor and obligation. But, he ate, so Prentiss considered it a win. She picked a fry from his take-out container and pushed it through a mixture of burger grease and mayonnaise just to get a rise out of him. He scrunched his face in quiet disgust and then smiled, and she felt as if she’d vanquished something terrible with that small expression. She’d been thinking about how to launch into the conversation that they had to have, but she fretted over it. He seemed so fragile now - she worried that even having a frank discussion might break what remained of his resolve. She didn’t want to be the one who did that to him, taking that last gasp of dignity away. Munching the fry, she decided that they’d built their friendship on bluntness so she shouldn’t offer anything less now.

“Today was…” she began quietly.

“Awful. Yeah, I know,” he finished, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his wrists dangle. “Sorry. I tried to warn you.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, yes, it was awful, but I’m not sorry I was there, Reid. It was important to see what you’ve been dealing with these last six weeks.”

He sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the long couch that they were both sitting on. “The treatment isn’t working, and the drugs are making her schizophrenia worse. I’m not sure there’s any value in being here anymore.”

He leaned back into the sofa and scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. Prentiss leaned back too just to be close so that he wouldn’t have to work hard at telling her any of this.

“Well, what are the alternatives?” she asked.

He rolled his head to face her and just stared for a long minute. She had no idea what he was thinking and that made her uneasy.

“There aren’t any, really. I take her back to Bennington.”

“Can she still receive the treatment there?”

“Yeah, but they aren’t specialists in Alzheimer’s. They can follow the prescription instructions and titrate as needed, but they aren’t well versed in the changes that need to be anticipated. And…” His voice trailed off.

“And what?”

“And I’m not sure that I want her to continue with the treatment anyway.” He almost whispered it and looked absolutely terrified as he admitted it. Prentiss’s congealed dinner lurched in her stomach ominously at what that expression implied. He swallowed hard as he watched her, and she did the same before she could find her voice again. She huddled a little closer, as if they were sharing horrible secrets together.

“Explain that,” she whispered and reached for his hand. His fingers curled through hers instantly, going white at the joints with tension. “Tell me why, Spencer, because… because that sounds like giving up and you don’t give up. Ever.”

He took a deep, wet-sounding breath. “You saw her today. She’s disconnected from reality most of the time now. Today was good in the sense that she was calm for a considerable amount of time.”

He rolled a little so that he was lying on his side against the couch facing her, as if curling towards some shelter he imagined she had. His eyes flicked to their hands quickly and then up to her face, and man, did he look tired. 

“Most days she’s not calm. She fixates on something she’s lost - most of the time it’s me - and she spirals. That’s the schizophrenia more than the dementia. If she’s taken off the Alzheimer’s meds, or they are scaled back to the bare minimum, we can increase her mood stabilizers again. It means… it means that we sacrifice stalling the cognitive decline in favor of her quality of life.”

He closed his eyes tightly and to Prentiss’s alarm, a tear squeezed out and rolled down his cheek into the fabric of the cushions beneath. Her mouth fell open and she couldn’t catch her breath. But when he spoke again, his tone was quiet and even.

“This is excruciating for me. This… vicious whittling away of what’s left of her… but it’s much, much harder for her to withstand. I thought… I thought it might be gentle, like a slow fading of daylight, that I’d be the one who suffered, not her.”

Another tear followed the first and then he made a soft sniffling sound that broke her utterly. She reached out without thinking and brushed away his tear. He stared at her for a moment and then leaned into the warmth of her hand against his cheek.

“She’s constantly anxious, Emily. She’s terrified most of the time, and she can’t even get a handle on it like she did with the schizophrenic hallucinations because her ability to distinguish fantasy and reality has too many holes in it now. I… I can’t watch her go through this… I can’t do this to her when…”

He closed his eyes, shook his head and tried to bury it in her hand.

“Can’t do this to her when - what, Spence?” She thought she knew what the end of his sentence would be, but he needed to say it aloud.

“I can’t do this to her w-when she’s not going to get any better,” he sobbed, and she pulled him into her shoulder and rocked them a little.

“This _fucking_ disease,” he whimpered angrily into her as his other hand grasped the side of her blouse and pulled. “It’s taking everything I l-love about her from me. It’s making me _watch_. And when it’s done with that, it’s going to kill her. There’s nothing I can do about it… nothing. I’m _useless_.”

“Shhhh, Spence…” She rocked them more urgently, her own tears falling into his hair as she tucked him under her chin. The couch springs groaned under them in a mournful rhythm and it was the only sound in the room for a long time until she could marshal her voice again. “You’re not useless, Spence. You’ve done everything you can.”

“Have I?” He pulled back and his face was red and wet and creased with anger. “I avoided her for a long time after she was diagnosed. I buried myself in treatments and studies, research and medical journals… How much time did I lose with her? Was she scared when she understood what would happen to her and _I wasn’t there?_ Rossi called me on it, you know. He said I was focusing on the wrong things. Then I used the work as an excuse…”

It all tumbled out of him viciously and too fast. How long had he blamed himself for this? Had he been here withstanding the double lash of Diana’s deterioration and his regret the entire time? She cupped his jaw and held it too tightly, staring him and his molten self-loathing down.

“Spencer Reid, no one is goddamned perfect,” she growled and sniffled at the same time. “You were doing this alone and there was no one there to point out the flaws in your strategy.”

His eyebrows lowered dangerously as she criticized him, but fuck it, he already knew he’d made mistakes. She wasn’t going to pull her punches now.

“Are you going to spend the time that’s left beating the shit outta yourself for the things you _didn’t_ do? Because I’m here now and I’m telling you that’s another mistake.”

“I can’t… I can’t just let it go…” he whispered, his anger receding slightly.

“I know!” She almost laughed because she knew his absurd tendencies almost as well as her own. “I know you, idiot! But there will be time for that later. Right now - today - you have to push that aside and think about what you really want for her.”

“Compartmentalize,” he hiccupped.

“It’s been enabling this broad for decades. It’s really useful, I’m telling you.” She’d been aiming for a moment of levity but his brow creased as if it were instruction instead.

“I… I want her to be content, Em. I can’t have the end of her life be one endless trauma.” He swallowed hard and stared at her with an unfiltered plea for validation. Prentiss felt a dangerous shift in power in her direction and instantly knew it was wrong.

“Do you want… I mean, if you decide to take her off the dementia treatment, won’t that mean she’ll decline faster?”

“Yes.” His voice was clear. He knew exactly what it meant. They were discussing the acceleration of Diana Reid’s death, and it left Prentiss nauseated that the woman didn’t have a say in any of this.

“Can you live with that?” she murmured, not sure if _she_ could if their positions were reversed.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But it’s the right call. Isn’t it?”

“Oh Spence,” she whimpered and pulled their foreheads together. “I can’t tell you what to do here.”

“Yeah, I guess I knew that,” he gulped and pushed against her more urgently. “But… am I a monster if I do this?”

“No! Jesus Christ, no…” 

She gripped him even closer, fingers cramping from the effort and trying to avoid blubbering like a toddler. They’d never been as close as this before. It felt natural for her to offer it, but it was also completely foreign to them. A tiny part of her mind was sending out panicked messages for her to place some distance between them, that there seemed to be a sign blinking on and off above them that simply read ‘DANGER’. But then a tear slid down her face and his thumb was there to brush it away. Then it lingered and traced circles lightly across her cheek, and something warm coiled through her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. _So much for compartmentalizing, or not blubbering…_

“Why are you crying?” he whispered, and they were so close his breath breezed over her lips. 

“Because you’re hurting,” she sighed, watching her fingers stroke the lines on his face. The divot at his temple, the sharp cheek bone, the zygomatic dip, the surprisingly solid jawline… “And I’m finding that… that’s very painful for me.”

His eyes widened and something new and indescribable washed over him. For a split second the circles under his eyes didn’t seem so dark, the washed out, haunted expression seemed to fade slightly. His mouth fell open in a tiny O and then his eyes flicked to her lips and away. The coiled _something_ in her flared brightly and then banked, waiting for another gust, another element, another _something_ … She bit her lip and then realized it when his eyes became riveted to her mouth. She stopped and let her mouth go lax instead, and then watched with an almost detached fascination as he slowly leaned closer.

His lips landed on hers and her mind reacted to it like a fireworks factory on fire. It was chaotic and disorienting and absolutely, 100% dangerous. At first she did nothing as his lips gently pressed and then slotted between hers and pulled for a moment. Perhaps her non-reaction was enough to worry him because he retreated almost instantly, his eyes avoiding hers. Then she did react, digging her fingers into his jaw and dragging him back to her. Her lips slid on his, finding his lower lip and curling around it with a tickle of her tongue. He moaned in surprise and she just slipped in without thinking about it, tasting his tears and burger grease and wanting more… just _more._ She arched closer pushing him back into the sofa and changing their angle, and then his arms were around her, crawling up her back and trying to lift her, to pull her right on top of him. 

Her fingers slid into his hair and he groaned wantonly then - a sound so unique and out of place for him that she could barely believe it. She pulled back slightly, dragging his lower lip with her, and then they broke apart with a loud gasp before she reconnected hungrily, licking and grasping and moving in hot, breathy demands. He shifted again, his mouth now biting and gasping on its own, as his arms constricted until she found it hard to catch her breath. She raised herself up and then fumbled as she swung a leg over him and tried to settle in his lap. Suddenly, he ripped himself away and his hands flashed to her hips to prevent her from sinking into him.

“Ngh…” was all he managed to say, and then she shushed him, brushing her lips across his cheek as her hand drifted down to tug at his belt.

“Emily,” he warned roughly and grabbed her roving hand by the wrist. She shushed him again, even as her brain screamed at her to ‘BACK OFF’. She no longer felt entirely in control and to her surprise that didn’t seem to bother her. She was just feeling, acting like she had when she was younger and fearless. The headiness of that almost forgotten sensation pushed her on and became the element that fueled her coiled _something_ into an unstoppable act.

Her hand strained in his grip and drifted over the tented material along his fly. He groaned again - the same, wanton plea - and she trembled as her fingers inched back up to the belt and loosened it without him blocking her. Then, with his hand still wrapped around her, she popped the button of his pants and wiggled the zipper low. Her hand slipped inside as she breathed hard into his cheek, just feeling and not seeing. Her fingertips outlined him through his briefs, almost too lightly, but then he shifted his hips and she skipped across a hard bump and a patch of wet cotton.

“Emily,” he whimpered again and it sounded like a question, like _‘are you sure?’_ To her, the question had already been asked and answered, but she didn’t know by whom.

“Shush Spence, s’okay… it’s really okay…”

His mouth was on hers in an instant, eating her words frantically as his hands grabbed her by the waist and ground her down into his lap. His hardness pressed into the fabric of her pants and she gasped into his mouth as her body reacted with a flush of wetness. She rutted against that pressure in frustration - _too much fabric, too much in the way_ \- and he stopped kissing her and leaned his head back into the sofa and made a shocked ‘ah’ as his hips sought hers. She loved his sounds - they were all new but she already loved how entirely unexpected they were. She watched him stretch under her, the muscles in his neck cording a little as he tried to push up into her, and she swept forward to lick that long, strained trail. A mournful ‘huh’ popped out of him and she backed off because it sounded painful, and when she saw his expression there was some hurt there. She almost stopped.

“Spence, I… I…” she stuttered, and then his hands moved to her blouse, pulling it loose too urgently and then snaking underneath to crawl across her skin. “Oh God,” she gusted when his fingers brushed the underside of her bra, and her whole body shivered cold and then hot when he cupped her with his palms. “Fuck… help me out of this… fuck!”

His hands slipped out and then flashed down the line of buttons so quickly they were almost a blur. Then he pushed the silk back over her shoulders as she shimmied out of it. His eyes were on hers the whole time - fascinated, haunted - and it made her stomach flip in arousal and unease, which was something she’d never dealt with before. She called his name again, worried, and he responded by pulling her back to his mouth and making her float with him in the moment instead. His fingers landed along her face, holding her reverently, and she was overwhelmed by a feeling of _wrongness_ ; it was too needy, too deep, too fast. The intensity of it was driving her mindlessly forward past all of her better instincts and her pervasive love of his friendship towards some sort of sudden inevitability that neither one of them could see or control. She whined because the thought hurt - she _didn’t_ want to hurt him, didn’t think she was capable of it - but she also couldn’t stop herself. The intensity had flared up into an addiction she didn’t know she had until she was already messed up by it, and that didn’t seem fair. There should’ve been some warning…

He continued kissing her, moving along her jaw and sucking hard into her throat as she could do nothing but shiver and cry out against him. His hands moved to her back and in an instant her bra was gone, like a magic trick he’d been practicing. Then his hands were on her for real, stroking, lining, squeezing until her nerves were so frazzled that she thought her upper body might spark in the darkness. She took a huge breath and told herself to get some of her control back. Her hands moved to his shirt and ran down the buttons. He got the idea and leaned away from the couch to help her shuck it off him. Then he looked up into her eyes, flushed and tousled and unrestrained, and waited for her command. 

_Jesus fucking Christ, Spencer!_ , she thought as she shook again and got even wetter.

“Take off your pants,” she growled, and then shifted off him so he could move. She did the same as they watched each other fumble impatiently. She managed to get everything off but he stopped with one pant leg tangled around his ankle and his socks still on. He sagged back into the couch and held his arms out.

“C’mere…”

She slid back into him in a flash and they both gasped sharply when they rubbed against each other, both too wet and unfamiliar with each other to be ready for it. She dug her fingers into his thin shoulders and outlined him with her wetness, just a feather-light suggestion of connection. The muscles in his jaw flexed and his eyes slipped shut.

“Shit,” he gritted out.

“Okay?” she panted against his lips and she did it again, her skin feeling as if it were burning off where they came together. “Or no?”

“Fuuuuuck…. _Emily_ …. EmilyEmilyEmily…” It came out desperate and adoring, and hearing it made her heart stutter brutally against her ribs.

“Spence-” She was overwhelmed by that dreadful feeling of wrongness again. She wanted to comfort him, be comforted _by him_ , but something niggled in the back of her brain that she was failing at that.

“You don’t know, Em…” he gasped, and then one of his hands skimmed down her midriff and into her curls, slinking through her wetness curiously. “You don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?” she moaned as the twin sensations of dread and lust combined and rendered her useless again.

“What you do to me,” he whispered, watching her arch into his fingers, and smiling sadly. “What it was like seeing you today… walking into my nightmare…”

“Oh…” she gulped and felt a tear slip out of her again. She leaned into his forehead and tried to choke back the fear that was slowly losing ground to what they were doing. She couldn’t stop now if she wanted to, but she was terrified about what was happening. His fingers kept circling her, wrecking her completely. “I didn’t come here to hurt you… or j-judge you. I wanted to help… oh fuck, Spence, I just want to h-help. Can’t even do that right…”

“I know what you wanted, Em. But I don’t think it’s in your power to give to me.” He licked into her throat, once, twice, and bit down so surely and softly that it felt like a message she couldn’t read but she held close anyway because of its beauty. Then he added his thumb to his roving fingers and began to use her roughly. She keened against him and hated herself a little for it. “This is what I want,” he growled into her skin. “May I have this instead?”

She nodded and then grappled for his face, pulling him in for a rough kiss as she ground into him mindlessly. She cried a little as they moved, mouths eating the words ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘it’s all right’ and ‘I wish…’. They were all mixed together and she couldn’t tell who said what. When her hands cupped his face, his cheeks were wet.

Her whole body was an exaggerated arrow pointing to her cunt, and it embarrassed her. This wasn’t who she was to him - she didn’t know if this was ever who she was. His mouth moved to her breasts and sucked until she got dizzy, realizing that she’d been holding her breath. She coughed roughly and felt his lips mumble ‘Breathe’ into her sensitive skin, but she was one or two hip thrusts away from coming apart.

“Can’t,” she gasped. “Fuck, Spence… _close_ …”

“Not yet.” He pulled his hand away and a cry ripped out of her that sounded bloody as it hung in the air between them. Then his hands were on her hips dragging her down and his lips were over hers. “Breathe, just breathe… my god, you’re so beautiful _Icanbarelystandit_ …”

He rubbed her over him; she could feel every ridge, every unique curve across her oversensitive core. They were both so wet that they were positively slick, making their movements less precise and a lot more frustrating. Her fingers still dug down into his shoulders but her body went lax against him, too overstimulated to know what to do now. On one of their passes, he slipped in accidentally, just the tip, and they both froze instantly, holding their breath. His hands bit into her hips and then he shuddered violently, but he didn’t push forward.

“Spence…” she warned.

And then after a painful moment of _nothing_ , she felt him slowly, achingly, push into her. It stretched out and took forever, him pressing against her fractions of an inch at a time as he gritted his teeth into her throat. The slow anticipation of him turned her mindless, making her almost swell and clutch as if she could drag him in and take over the pace. And then there was the realization that there was so much of him - he just kept pressing, filling her until it felt impossible. When he finally stopped and held still, gasping helplessly into her neck, she seemed almost painfully full, seated as deeply as she could go, and already she could feel herself rippling with the unavoidable. Just this glacial pull had been enough to set the tumblers rolling…

“You feel amazing…” he wheezed, holding her too close and not close enough. “Oh god… are you? Jesus, are you-”

“Move! Please!” she cried the moment before it hit and she lost all control. It ripped through her, over and over, and it was sharp and painful and completely exquisite. It took quite a while for it to dim - a slow descent rather than the usual gut-flipping dive - and she realized that he was slowly pumping in her, stretching out the tingling aftershocks into a luxuriant, undulating ride as his arms slid around her soothingly, pulling her close and cradling her.

“You were… that was… oh, _Emily_ ,” he mouthed into her as she clung to him.

She pulled him close, hiding her tears in his hair, and riding him as well as she could now that they were obscenely slick and she had lost most of her motor control. She murmured something gorgeous and secret to him, not really certain that he could hear it over his strangled breathing. But she had to - it was beyond her control. And then she wrapped him up tightly and rolled into his hips, urging him on.

“C’mon, Spence, c’mon… my turn to feel you lose yourself.”

He made a low grunt and then thrust into her savagely, making the bruised parts of her close around him to slow him down.

“That’s it… harder. You’ve shattered me… now take what you want of what’s left.”

He pumped into her faster, almost cruelly, making her whole lower body rock from his momentum and eliciting tiny, hurt ‘ohs’ from her with each pass.

“I-I want all of it,” he bit into her.

“Have it… have it all.” She whispered it into his ear and then licked the lobe in for a suck. But that was interrupted by a gasp when he slammed into her out of rhythm and she felt his wave crest, starting in his spine and ending at the tip of him deep inside her. “Oh, fuck, Spence… I can _feel_ you. Goddamned magnificent…”

He used her viciously for a few seconds as he worked himself, and then he went still and clamped around her in a wordless cry as he let go. His fingers would leave crescent bruises, and his teeth would score a mark on her that she wouldn’t let him apologize for later. His hips pumped futilely as he wrung himself out, and she whimpered, utterly pleased to feel them drip down all over each other, filthy pride in the knowledge that they got to each other so completely.

He sagged back into the couch, taking her with him, and breathing as if he were having a heart attack. She cuddled closer, still buried in his hair, and twisting around his slick, softening cock with a moan.

“Oh god… don’t do that,” he gasped.

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I came so hard I can’t even _think_ , but when you moan… it’s… well, my body is sending a lot of mixed signals…”

“I couldn’t go again if my life depended on it,” she grunted and lifted herself off him with a hiss. She slowly stretched out along the couch because she was feeling dizzy, and after a moment, he stretched out beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She closed her eyes and swallowed back the swell of feeling that threatened to spill out - because it was beautiful and she craved it, but the wrongness had never abated. “I’m too old for that,” she rasped out instead. He just nuzzled close and kissed her neck like she was priceless.

They drifted together for a while in silence. She may have dozed. And then his fingers trailed up and down her arm in lazy ellipses. When she turned to look at him he was watching his fingers, lost in thought.

“Hey,” she murmured and waited for his tired eyes to meet hers. The exhaustion was back. She knew it would be, but it still made her heart sink.

“Hi.” He kissed her shoulder and then his other hand cupped under her breast and snuggled her back into his chest. Their legs were tangled together along the sofa. He’d somehow lost his pants, but his socks were still defiantly in place: one Mickey Mouse, one argyle. She loved this, fleeting as she knew it would be, so she memorized every detail, every line on his face when he looked at her, so that she’d never forget what being tangled together _felt like_.

“So, what’s next?” she asked, really worried about his answer. He blinked at her, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he thought about it.

“I take her home to Vegas,” he sighed.

Part of her was disappointed that his answer had nothing to do with what had just happened. But the rational part of her - the _boss_ in her - said that it was good. She’d just dodged a bullet. 

“Are you sure?” She turned in his arms to face him, their hands curled between their chests like they were praying together.

“Not really, but I can’t keep us in this limbo of indecision. It’s not like the choice will ever get easier.”

She dipped forward and left a soft kiss on his forehead. He hummed his appreciation. 

“Do you want me to come?” It was sort of fishing, and sort of not, but the two were definitely mixed up together. He shook his head and frowned.

“It’ll take a day to sort things out at the treatment center and Bennington. Then I’ll have to tell Mom…” His voice trailed off. “We’ll have to fly back and that will be an adventure. And then I’ll have to stay and oversee the medication adjustments. Make sure she settles back in as best she can… It’ll take a while.”

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

He took her hand and opened it, laying a kiss against her palm. “The Unit needs you, and there’s nothing that you can _actually do_ to speed this along. It’s not a matter of needing an extra set of hands.”

She tried not to feel rejected. She didn’t know what they were now, but she didn’t have a right to that level of hurt. She knew that much.

“I’m not offering a second set of hands, Spence.”

He stared at her for a long time. “I know you aren’t.” After he said it, his expression looked the same as when Diana denied him as her son, and he’d hidden from it by staring out a window.

 _Well, I guess that’s that, isn’t it?_ She turned her head towards his shoulder to hide anything that might leak out from under her armor. She felt his lips in her hair.

“Will you stay tonight?” he whispered, and her heart fluttered uselessly. She nodded and sighed into him. At least they’d have this. At least they could hold one another and pretend that their lives hadn’t suddenly become very shitty and would make them miserable for the foreseeable future.

“Thank you for this,” he murmured as she began to fall asleep. Her arms tightened around him and she bit her lip to stop herself from speaking. Nothing she could say would do either of them any good now.

They slept.

 

At dawn she rose gingerly from the couch, stiff and sticky, and had an unpleasant image of attempting to clean herself up in a bathroom at the airport before catching her stupid-early flight back to D.C. She dressed as quietly as she could but when she turned back to the sofa, he was watching her, soft-eyed and sprawled crazily, and his expression was one he’d wear if he was never going to see her again. Her heart stopped for a second but she knew her mask remained safely in place.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry…”

He stared at her some more and, _Jesus_ , she wanted to kiss him, but then he held out his hand to her. “Come here.”

She perched on the edge of the couch, her hip bumping his. “Flight’s in two hours,” she said unnecessarily, not knowing what he was going to do. He waited for her hand to drop into his, and then he drew it to his mouth and kissed it. He curled it in his palm and let them both rest on his chest over his heart. She swallowed down her dry throat and waited, but he said absolutely nothing. Just the steady tha-thump, tha-thump of his chest against her skin.

“Will you call me? Keep me updated?” she asked rashly, wanting some sort of connection to remain. He was silent for a long time, squeezing her hand in his.

“I’ll let you know when I’m coming back to work,” he murmured.

“That’s not…” she huffed in exasperation.

“I know what you meant, and I know you’ll give me as long as I need. I promise I won’t take advantage of that.”

“Oh, for chrissakes, Spencer, I couldn’t care less if the Bureau complains about the length of your leave.”

“I know that too,” he cracked a tired smile and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m just saying, I don’t want to make the new boss look bad.”

And there it was: she was his _boss_ , regardless of everything else. It was a truth, but she’d always hoped that ‘boss’ wouldn’t be the first thing that sprung to mind when he thought of her. Especially not now. But there wasn’t any purpose in arguing with reality, and she had to go before the lingering effects of the night before moved her to do something that was perilous for both of them.

“Okay, good to know,” she said dryly, and tried to shake it all off. She rose from the couch and her hand slipped from his easily. His eyes followed her but they were impossible to read. “Be safe,” she murmured as she collected her bag and phone.

“You too,” he whispered.

And then she left him behind and crept out into the thin daylight smelling of him and still feeling the imprints of his hands beneath her clothes.


	2. Spider Crack

Reid returned to D.C. ten days later and Prentiss only knew about it when he called to let her know that he’d be showing up for work the following Monday. She was insanely pissed off and found that it took far more effort to repress that emotion than she was comfortable expending. 

Not one email or call while he was in Vegas. Not one. No updates, no _‘I need to blow off some steam’_ messages, and certainly no _‘I miss you’_. And she definitely missed him, which led to all sorts of distraction, and frustration at such, and, inevitably, the insanely pissed off-ness. She hated that she was a grown, responsible, mature woman who was suddenly acting like a heartbroken _girl_ , and that she couldn’t get a handle on it to avoid the way it spilled over into her professional demeanor. She snapped at J.J. and ground her teeth at Alvez, Rossi just steered clear of her but Lewis got right up into her face about it.

“I know this is way outta bounds,” she said one evening as she walked into Prentiss’s office without waiting for an invitation. “Because you’re the boss…” 

There was that damned word again. Prentiss wondered if a word could qualify as a nemesis. 

“But I’m actually a trained doctor, and I don’t have a lot of history with you. If you want to talk about anything, Prentiss, I’m here, and it’ll remain confidential. Sometimes when it comes to personal stuff, spilling to a stranger is better.”

Lewis flashed her trademark smirk and Prentiss found that she couldn’t be angry or insulted by the offer. It _was_ way out of bounds and she had no intention of taking her up on it, but it was a soft-edged wake-up call for her and Lewis had skillfully delivered it. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end up really liking Lewis…

When Reid finally called three days after that, she had her shit together. She _thought_ so, anyway…

“I’m back,” he said after a brief greeting that contained absolutely no explanations or personal insights. He still sounded exhausted, but that was expected and told her nothing.

“When did you get in?” she breezed, trying to affect professionalism in a petty way against his wariness, which made her roll her eyes at herself.

“Yesterday morning.”

 _Yesterday morning? What the-_ She shook her head. “How did it go?”

There was a noticeable pause. “As well as it could, considering.”

“I thought we might hear from you…” _We_ , not _I_ , she thought defensively, but then followed it up with _who are you kidding?_

“There was a lot to be done,” he sighed. “I didn’t have much time to myself.”

She waited a beat and then a daring part of her said _okay, fuck it_. “I told you that you didn’t have to do this alone, Spencer. All you had to do was pick up the phone.”

“I remember what you said, Prentiss,” he answered flatly. _Prentiss._ “I appreciate the offer but it turns out it wasn’t necessary. I… I just called to let you know I’ll be back in the office on Monday morning.”

She swallowed back the sting that his tone left on her. “Are you sure? If you need a little time for yourself-”

“I don’t need anything,” he said abruptly. “I just want to work again.”

“Okay, fine.” She was _done_ with this conversation. If this was how he wanted it to be, she’d learn to be fine with it. It was one night, and ill-advised, and deep down she always knew that he’d feel wrong about it afterwards. There was a long pause between them and she wondered if she should just hang up. Hotch used to do that all the time after he considered a conversation finished.

“Umm, morning briefing’s still at nine?” he mumbled, sounding a little unsure of himself.

“Eight-thirty, actually,” she mumbled back. “We don’t have an active case at the moment, but I’ll let know if that changes before Monday.”

“Okay, sounds good.” He made a weird noise, as if he’d started to say something and then hastily shoved it aside. “See you Monday then.”

He hung up and she resolutely did not permit him into her thoughts until he walked into the conference room on Monday morning. It took spectacular effort, but she did it. _Like a boss._

So he came back and things returned to normal, more or less. He looked as though a stiff breeze would knock him over, and he was becoming dangerously thin, but his mind was sharp, his insights fiercely accurate, and the team seemed quietly relieved at his presence. She wondered if he had any clue how much he was missed when he was absent, and not just by her. 

For the first week, Prentiss had to physically hold herself in check, faking her assumed boss role until her gut and instincts bought in again. She kept her distance, didn’t ask personal questions of him, and prioritized work over all other concerns. Despite the awkwardness of his last call, Reid showed no signs that anything had changed between them when he returned, and she assumed that was his silent request of her, so she obliged him. There was a twinge of _something_ though when she walked into the conference room one morning and found him hugging J.J. in a way that seemed intensely private. She just stood there in the doorway and watched as he clutched J.J. close, eyes closed and leaning down onto her shoulder. When they pulled apart J.J. gave him a hopeful smile as she lightly tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and he smiled back, tired but genuine. A moment later he looked up and caught Prentiss staring, and something akin to distress flicked over his face before he marshaled it under control. J.J. turned to Prentiss and grinned, obviously finding nothing unusual in the scene. Prentiss smiled back, choking down a sharp flare of inadequacy, and asked how J.J.’s boys were doing without skipping a beat. After the briefing was done as everyone filed out to collect their belongings before heading to the airstrip, J.J. skimmed up beside her and nudged her shoulder.

“You alright?”

“Sure. Why?” Prentiss asked.

“You’ve been a little distant with Spence since he came back…” J.J. shrugged. _Spence._ That annoying flicker of inadequacy came back and Prentiss kicked it angrily like unwanted trash.

“I figured he needed some time.” She’d _hoped_ he needed some time. “Thought he’d come around when he felt comfortable about it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” J.J. didn’t seem convinced. Prentiss stopped as they strolled and frowned.

“Is he okay? Should I be concerned?”

“I don’t know,” J.J. sighed and then thought for a moment. “He’s clearly upset about Diana, but there’s something else… he’s holding onto his anxiety pretty tightly and he’s usually less cagey about that sort of thing with me.”

“Well, if past experience is any indicator, pushing him won’t get us anywhere.”

“True.” J.J. flashed her a rueful smile. 

“Maybe…” Prentiss felt as though she might be showing her hand a little, but she needed help with Reid now. _Now that you’ve screwed it up,_ her mind whispered. “Maybe we should both just try to be available. You know, when he decides that he needs to reach out. You let me know if you think he’s in trouble, and I’ll do the same. Deal?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. If it’s really bad, he’s bound to come to one of us with it,” J.J. smiled. “Meet you at the airfield?”

Prentiss nodded and watched J.J. walk away. She hoped that she was right about Reid.

Starting on that case, Prentiss began her campaign to bring Reid back into the fold. It also doubled as her secret mission to learn to be his friend again. She started it by feeding him. During a marathon session going through old case files at a local PD archive, she walked past the desk he’d commandeered and lobbed a wrapped sandwich she’d bought on a coffee run.

“Eat this,” she ordered as the sandwich made a solid thunk on the desk, then she walked away before he could comment on it. When she returned an hour later three quarters of the sandwich was gone leaving crumbs across his files.

During a break in an interrogation, she pushed a mug of coffee into his hands while asking him about how they should proceed with the suspect. He stammered for a moment, clutching the mug and wanting to say something but his mind tripping over his need to respond to her request. In the end he rambled on about Oedipal complexes and suggested that she take a run at the suspect while sipping thoughtfully from the steaming cup. When she silently brought him take-out one week into the case, he watched her sit across from him in the PD and opened the container with an exasperated look on his face.

“Why are you feeding me?” he asked quietly, nevertheless digging a plastic fork enthusiastically into his chicken fried rice. She popped a spring roll into her mouth and propped her feet up onto the edge of the desk, chewing slowly so that he’d have to wait for her answer.

“Do you want me to stop?” she said eventually, feeling a little evil.

“No. Umm… no,” he stuttered, looking as if he’d shocked himself with his answer. “I’m hungry. I _get_ hungry… thank you. But, ummm, I’d still like to know why…”

She took a moment. “Because your mom said I should.”

His eyes shot up to hers and his fork stopped midway to his mouth. Something wary crept into his expression and she gave a forceful look back - it said _I’m not ignoring anything that happened but I’m not acting on it either. Just chill out._ It was good advice for both of them in her opinion. He lowered his fork slowly and then ducked his eyes away, and to her great shock, he blushed.

“Thank you,” he said after clearing his throat awkwardly. It was the first time since he’d returned that she’d seen a glimpse of the vulnerability he’d shown in Houston. Her chest tightened a little and she had to focus on chewing to make it stop. But it did.

“Eat up,” she murmured. “Before it gets cold.”

They ate in silence for a while, watching the cops of the precinct wander around like busy drones. When he spoke again it startled her so much she almost dropped her container of beef and broccoli in oyster sauce.

“Mom will be pleased when I tell her,” he mumbled around a mouthful of rice, not exactly looking at her.

“Oh yeah?” She couldn’t help but smile, and when he eventually looked up, he smiled back when he saw her delight. “She’ll remember?”

“She might. It depends on the day. But I’ll tell her anyway. She worries about that sort of thing too much. It’ll be nice to ease that.”

“Happy to be useful,” she said quietly but pointedly, and then left it at that.

The campaign continued after that, but with little worry that he’d react badly to it anymore. In time, he began to do the same thing back, bringing her chocolate or ridiculous confections from coffee shops or an impeccably-timed meal just as she were about to eat someone alive. He started to smile cheekily when he did it as if to say _two can play at overbearing presumptuousness_ , and she began to feel better about everything that had passed between them. They’d be okay, relatively: they could still be friends and still work together. She was still his boss and he wasn’t chafing against that. And hopefully, when something happened to Diana - _hopefully_ \- he’d feel secure enough to ask her for help. At this point it seemed like the best possible outcome for them.

Time passed and he seemed to have good and bad days. Prentiss thought there was a good chance that his mood mirrored Diana’s twenty-five hundred miles away. Sometimes she’d let it go without comment, catching his eye for a moment to let him know _I see it_. On occasion he’d give her the slightest of nods to acknowledge the understanding even though he never followed it up with a conversation. Other times he just quickly looked away, distant and haunted. 

Sometimes she’d force the subject but only when they were alone. She’d catch him making a new pot of coffee and she’d just lean against the cupboards and whisper, “How bad is it now?” He’d always twitch a little but he never ignored her question. His answers could be detailed or monosyllabic, but he always gave her one. It felt like a significant step forward.

Once, when his mood lasted over a week, she waited until the bullpen cleared out late one afternoon, and then slid up to his desk skimming the edge of it with a ruined fingernail. She saw his eyes following that finger with interest before he swiveled his chair to face her. He just lifted his eyebrows and waited.

“Do you need to go to her?” she asked simply. He shook his head ‘no’, not pretending that he didn’t anticipate her concern for his behavior. _We know each other pretty well, don’t we?_

“I don’t think it would be helpful. She might be better by the time I got there, and then seeing me could set her off again. Her routine is everything to her now.”

“I didn’t only ask for her sake, Spencer.” He looked at her curiously when she used his first name. Something sad flickered in his gaze for a moment and then was gone. “Do _you_ need to go to her?”

He swallowed hard, once, twice. “No… uh, no. That wouldn’t help what I’m going through.”

His eyes slid away from hers and he looked absolutely miserable for a heartbreaking moment. She remembered what he’d said about being a monster, and her pulse quickened when she knew with gut-churning certainty what he was thinking.

“It’s not terrible, you know…” He looked back to her, and she leaned closer, bracing her weight with a hand on his desk. “ _Not_ wanting to see her. Not wanting to face her decline. It’s actually completely understandable.”

“And cowardly,” he grumbled, eyebrows lowering dangerously.

“I told you: nobody’s perfect. I can’t stop you from thinking you’re an awful son, but I’m _telling_ you that you’re not. Whether you decide to go or not, for her sake or for yours, please stop beating yourself up over it. It really is upsetting to watch and you’re wrong about it anyway.”

“I’m sorry that my anxiety disturbs you.” His tone was snappish, but his expression was devastated, as if it hurt to know he’d upset her. She leaned away from him, wary of his testiness, and raised her hands in surrender. She’d become very adept at learning to back off from him since Houston, even though she hated it.

“Just tell me if you need to leave. It won’t be a problem. Whatever you need, Reid.”

“Whatever I need…” he repeated as his look of devastation became almost more than she could stomach. She rushed to fill the silence with something that would make it stop.

“What I’m saying is that this job isn’t worth it, Spencer. Don’t tear yourself in two trying to handle both it and your mom. If you need to leave us then do it. She’s family and her illness should be all that matters now.”

He blinked rapidly as if she’d hit him and he was trying to understand it. “Do you _want_ me to leave?”

That was a loaded question, and she took a deep breath so that she could find the right thing to say. “I want you to do what you _have_ to do first. You don’t have to do this job. Like you said, it could become a place for you to hide and that won’t make you feel any better.”

“Feeling better isn’t a likely outcome no matter what choice I make,” he gritted out.

“Spencer,” she crouched down to rest on the balls of her feet so that their conversation was less obvious to any of those still left in the bullpen. His eyes followed her down and his anger seemed to bleed off as her movement surprised him. “You’ve been trying really hard, and your work is as good as ever, but you’re not all here. I can see it. I’ve tried, and I know J.J. has reached out to you, but you won’t let anyone help you. When I tell you that it’s okay to leave us - _that’s_ the only way I know how to help you with this. We’re not pushing you away - _I’m_ not pushing you away. I’d love to do more, but that’s up to you.”

He slouched into his chair and then went very still, staring at her. His eyes got huge and dark, and something dangerous flickered in them for a second and then was gone. He moved his hand from where it rested on his thigh, as if to reach forward, and then he settled it again, forming a fist that made the skin of his knuckles pale while she watched.

“I haven’t been very fair to you,” he whispered eventually, and that wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

“That’s not… that’s not the point I was making.”

“It’s not?”

“No. My point is… that you’re making things hard on yourself and they don’t have to be _that hard_. We’d be there for you in a heartbeat, Spencer. Me, J.J., Garcia, Rossi… you’re a part of us. Don’t you know that?”

He shrugged non-commitally and that just drove her nuts. How could he NOT know? She sighed loudly, exasperated with him.

“We love you, man. It’s a damned fact that you’d better get used to. Stop pushing us away. And if you won’t let us help, at least listen to our suggestions once in a while. You never know - we might actually be right now and then.” 

She sagged against the side of his desk a little, her ankles cramping slightly. This was the most personal conversation they’d had in months, and she suddenly felt exhausted by it. He gave her a weird look, as if he were suddenly drained as well.

“I’m sorry, Emily.”

“For what?”

“For making things like… this, I guess.”

She wasn’t sure that they were just talking about his problems with Diana at this point.

“Just because things are this way now doesn’t mean that they have to stay like this,” she said carefully. “Every day is an opportunity to change things.”

He made a face like he wasn’t convinced of her reasoning, but he didn’t say anything. She decided that she should make a tactful exit before things got any weirder between them. She stood with a hiss and a sharp reminder that she wasn’t as young as she thought she was, and then knocked her fingers once on his desk like she was putting a period to the end of this scene.

“Think about it.” She turned quickly and headed to her office to fetch her things when she heard the squeak of his chair as he swiveled behind her.

“Emily?”

She turned to look back at him. He was still seated but leaning forward as if he would follow her. His expression had changed again, this time to something wide and sincere. It reminded her of the eight years they’d been partners and how she’d grown to trust that expression.

“Thanks,” he said, eyes flicking up to her and then away, over and over. “For reaching out. Again. I… I shouldn’t have to make people try so hard.”

She watched him silently twitch at what he’d said and then sighed, giving him a tired smile. “You bring it out in us, Spencer. We’ll always want to help you. I know that it must seem overbearing most of the time, but sometimes… you might actually need it. There’s no shame in reaching back for us from time to time.”

They stared at each other for a loaded moment. The dangerous flicker was back in his gaze and she could only see it for so long without commenting on it. And _that_ would lead them nowhere good. She turned from him abruptly and headed back to her office without another word. She hoped that some day he’d take her words to heart and finally ask for help. But that was all up to him now.

\----

“Whose idea was it to come to _this place_ again?” Prentiss slurred over the rim of her glass as she looked around in mild horror at the strobing lights and the mad flail of people on the dance floor just beyond their table.

“Mine,” Garcia chirped brightly, practically pulsating with glee and glitter. Lewis laughed at her for no real reason and Prentiss was starting to think that they were all impressively drunk. Now _this_ was teambuilding.

Prentiss squinted at Garcia. “You did this to entice Derek, didn’t you? This was his sort of place back in the day.”

Garcia feigned a look of innocence that was obliterated by her sudden ferocious blush. “Moi?” 

“Vraiment,” Prentiss smirked and looked around to check out the rest of her crew. 

Alvez was slouched into the banquette looking a little bleary. J.J. was rosy and grinning at _everything_ like a maniac. Rossi and Reid had been dispatched to the bar for another drink order. Through the surging crowd, Prentiss could see Rossi had one hand on Reid to keep him steady. He’d probably drop half the drinks before they got back to the table. He appeared to be having a good time, which was a welcome change of late, but he’d gone at it a little too hard - he should probably call it a night.

“You know that Morgan’s clubbing days are done, don’t you?” Prentiss turned back to Garcia, who was now pouting at the absence of her favorite Boo. “Savannah would probably chop his balls off if he came here and started dancing indiscriminately.”

Both J.J. and Lewis guffawed in unison at that.

“He wouldn’t be dancing indiscriminately,” Garcia huffed. “Just with me.”

Prentiss cocked an eyebrow and leaned towards her unsteadily. “You know that’s odd, right? He’s married.”

“Listen, ‘odd’ is where I’ve existed since puberty, honey, and as a footnote of TMI, I have a room in their house. It’s not the spare room - they _actually_ call it ‘Garcia’s room’. Savannah accepted me as a permanent fixture long ago. I’m like… tree roots that burrow into your house’s foundation, or raccoons that live in the attic. Can’t get rid of me.”

“That’s… psychotically disturbing…”

Garcia grinned and shrugged. “Face it: we’ve all gone a little incestuously feral over the years. We’re all tangled in each other’s business. It’s just a matter of time before Lewis and New Guy fall into it as well.”

Prentiss felt her face heat a little and was glad of the dim lighting.

“I like to think that it’s part of what makes us fabulous.” Garcia knocked her glass against Prentiss’s, splashing them both with booze. “Besides, I never _slept_ with Derek - we weren’t like that. I just love him. It’s totally different.”

Garcia leaned back into the banquette looking completely satisfied and Prentiss wondered how that worked. She didn’t think any member on the team doubted that Garcia and Morgan had a thing for each other, but she didn’t understand how it could still exist alongside his marriage. Was it possible to love someone intimately _without_ it being intimate at all? Psychology said ‘yes’ but her instincts doubted it. She was curious though. 

She was about to lean in and probe her drunk friend further when drinks thumped down in front of them. Prentiss looked up and saw Rossi absently lick spilled beer from his fingers as he distributed them to cheers from around the table.

“Where’s Reid?” she asked, seeing no sign of him.

“Bathroom,” Rossi huffed as he dropped down onto the bench next to J.J. and Lewis. “He got dizzy. Think he’s over his limit.”

“And you let him go alone?” Prentiss sat up, cocking a judgmental eyebrow at Rossi.

“He’s a big boy,” Rossi waved her concern away, less worried in general because he was more inebriated than he looked. “Not gonna hold the kid’s dick for him while he pees…”

“Dave!” J.J. jabbed him in the side, making him yelp.

“Rossi, he could be in trouble,” Prentiss grumbled, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

“He’s not. He’s plastered. Trust me - he’s feeling no pain at the moment. He even tried to kiss me.”

“He, what?” Prentiss wasn’t sure who said it. It felt as if the whole table had the same thought at the same time. Rossi laughed.

“It was an ‘I love you, man’ moment. There was no subtext.” Rossi stopped and then frowned slightly. “At least I hope there was no subtext…”

“Dave…” J.J. warned again, looking very mom-like.

“Man, I would’ve killed for a picture of that,” Lewis chuckled.

“Me too,” Garcia blinked.

“I’m going to check on him,” Prentiss rose and shuffled out of the booth, having a better understanding of Hotch’s seriousness all of those years, even when they should have been relaxing. _This boss gig blows,_ she thought as she stumbled towards the bar’s bathrooms.

When she made it to the corridor off the main room, she found him leaning heavily against the wall next to an ancient payphone that seemed both sticky and menacing. His tousled hair was pressed into a notice board with grubby flyers for events both past and future, and he was swaying slightly. He didn’t seem upset, but he was smiling at no one in particular and that was strange in itself.

“Hey,” she called out over the bar’s thumping music. He turned, still pressing into the wall for support, and pinging a few notices off the board to flutter to the floor as he moved. His grin grew impossibly wide when he recognized her.

“Hey, there she is. Boss lady…”

He was deeply drunk and it was a throwaway line, but it hurt her anyway. She stepped closer so that they were only a foot apart. “Don’t call me that.”

He squinted at her, as if she wasn’t in focus. “ ‘Kay, but you are the boss…”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it when people call me that.”

“That’s incongruous,” he huffed, and then shook it off, sagging hard into the wall. “Not a lot of other options: Prentiss is too formal, Emily isn’t allowed, and ‘hey, you’ is obviously rude…”

“I’ve never said you couldn’t call me Emily…”

“ _I_ won’t allow it,” he clarified. “Too personal.”

Her stomach flipped a little, and the booze made it more dangerous. “Not even when we’re out like this?”

“Nope,” he shook his head and then bit his lip as if to stop himself from talking. It was an odd reaction because his expression was so open and he was leaning towards her while trying to close himself off at the same time, and not really managing to pull either impulse off completely.

Prentiss decided to let it drop. They were busy making friendship strides again. “Rossi said you tried to kiss him?” Her mouth curled in a smirk, and he blushed.

“Platonic kiss,” he murmured as he shuffled and nearly fell forward into her. Her hands grasped his arms to hold him upright. “Y’know… like you said, to show people I know they’re there. He’s a good friend… such a good friend…”

“Wow, you are spectacularly drunk, aren’t you?”

“Mebbe. Little bit.” He looked sheepish and it melted her a little. _Stupid genius._

“Hmmmm. Maybe just use your words. Less physical boundary blurring, okay?”

She smiled at him but his expression turned incredibly soft as he looked at her. “Too late for that,” he murmured, and she felt like he’d punched her in the gut.

“C’mon, lightweight. I think it’s time to call it a night,” she choked around the lump in her throat while trying to manhandle him away from the wall. “We’ll find you a cab.”

“You leaving too?” He sagged against her side and his head lolled until it rested on her shoulder. When he spoke, his breath breezed across her neck, all wet and close, and she refused to react to it.

“Yeah,” she mumbled wearily as she settled his dead weight against her. “Too old for this sort of thing anymore.”

“Nonsense,” he murmured too close to her ear, and then she felt a hand brush the edge of her jaw. “You’re in your prime.”

She jolted as if electrocuted, not prepared for either the compliment or the caress. They both thumped back against the wall as she lost her balance, and he just stared at her, eyes still soft and hand still cupping her jaw. People brushed past them in the corridor without concern. Off to their left, someone whistled in their direction. _So it’s as obvious as it feels then…_

“Spencer…” she warned quietly.

“Oops,” he shyly smiled. “Talking too much again and sayin’ all the wrong stuff…”

“The wrong stuff?”

He nodded, brushing the tip of her nose with his because he was so close. “Not totally my fault though. I mean, I drank too much - that’s on me. But you’re… undeniably stunning…” He sagged and braced himself with his other hand along the wall behind her. “It’s hard to ignore it all the time…”

She thumped her head back against the disgusting club wall. She was staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and couldn’t seem to convince herself to try anything else. They’d been coming along with the friendship thing for months. She’d done her best to shove anything else she felt aside. They’d been _winning_ ; why was he doing this now?

“See? Did it again,” he whispered sadly, his smile fading in a strange echo of that one desperate night in Houston. “Saying things I shouldn’t.”

“Why?” she breathed, and wasn’t sure _exactly_ what she was asking with it. 

His eyes got huge and glassy, even in the twilight of the club. His pupils were blown wide and his face was pink, telling her just how drunk he was. A worried crease formed between his brows and he looked as if he were about to say something when a rowdy group of twentysomethings hustled past them in the corridor and one slammed into his back as someone shouted a drunken “Fuck you, Kyle!” He collapsed against her, his hand buckling along the wall, and then his mouth was moving across hers, wet and hungry and desperate. She just reacted, one arm wrapping around his back and holding him as he slouched dangerously and she thought his legs might give up on him. Her other hand found the elbow of the arm that was still cupping her to him, and she squeezed. He pressed into her brutally then until she could feel the boniness of his hips and the cut of his ribs. He pulled away from her mouth with a flick of his tongue and a damp moan.

“Christ, _Emily_ …”

Then both of his hands were deep in her hair and she was the only thing holding both of them upright. She gave up the pretense of passivity and gave back as good as she was getting, gasping and licking and sucking, getting lightheaded and completely disregarding that they were losing it in public. Another whistle sounded appreciatively in the corridor. She distantly wondered what was happening and what it meant. She wondered if she should take him home with her. But the wondering was so very far away…

He suddenly pulled back, shocked and stumbling in her grip as he tried to put space between them.

“Sorry… oh my god, sorry… I shouldn’t… _dammit!_ Too drunk, too screwed up… god, I’m sorry, Emily.”

“Hey, hey… what’s-” she gasped and tried to pull him back even as he managed to stagger backwards and almost into the path of passersby in the corridor.

“I _screwed up!_ ” He seemed frantic and alarmed, and it was an extreme reaction that told her she was missing something important. She grabbed him by the biceps and wrenched him back, not close enough to kiss but out of the way of others.

“Spencer, it’s alright. Everything’s okay,” she soothed while staring him down. He seemed on the verge of a breakdown and that’s when her mind whispered _all that progress you thought you’d made was a mirage - he’s as messed up as he was in Texas_. Her heart felt as if it shrunk to half its normal size, and it took her arousal with it. “Whatever just happened, we’re still fine. I promise you. Just calm down a little for me, okay?”

“Really?” He looked a bit green and she wondered if he was going to pass out.

“Yeah,” she nodded and tried to pull him in for a hug that he resisted. “Please tell me why you’re so anxious… please.”

“Too drunk. Don’t feel well,” he gulped and fumbled against her trying to get free. She gave in.

“Okay, let’s find you that taxi…”

They both stumbled from the corridor out to the entrance and into the cold night air. It snapped her to attention and when she looked at him sagging against her side she sighed to see him _less green._ She murmured soft reassurances and stroked the line of his back in between waving at passing cabs. It took a few attempts before one stopped for her, and Reid was silent the whole time, eyes distant as if he’d passed out standing upright somehow. She opened the cab door and nudged him into the backseat, wondering if she should slide in beside him and then shaking it off, knowing herself too well to think that the impulse was benign. She gave the cabbie his address and stuffed a wad of cash into his hands before turning back to find his eyes refocused on her again.

“You’re gonna be alright. Just go home and sleep.”

“Are you gonna be alright?” he whispered and his expression crumbled into misery so quickly that it took her breath away. Why was he so worried?

“Of course.” She tried to act casual, as if it were a given that they’d move past this. “Nothing to worry about.”

He stared at her, almost lost in it, and after a minute, the cabbie cleared his throat. She blinked and backed out of the car. “Get some rest, lightweight,” she said.

“Emily,” he leaned forward before she could shut the door on him. He waited a moment longer, looking confused and swallowing too much. “You’re my best friend,” he said finally.

She blinked at him as the late winter wind chilled her and splintered her heart in her chest. “You’re my best friend too,” she said truthfully.

He nodded and his lips thinned. Then he reached for the door handle and swung it shut. Before the door closed him in she thought she heard him say, “That’s why this is so hard.”

The cab pulled away from the curb and she watched it until it turned the corner and was lost to her. Reid didn’t look back and she tried to _not think_ at all as she hailed a cab of her own.

\----

Prentiss didn’t bring up the team night out afterwards and Reid seemed happy to let that stand. He continued to weave between high-functioning nerdiness and sullen reserve for weeks on end, but this time she watched it all with escalating concern. Before it had seemed as though he was making progress, but after the night at the club, she knew that he was still deflecting, still holding on too tightly to a fear he refused to let anyone see. He’d just gotten more skillful at disguising it.

She talked to J.J. about it and she admitted that she hadn’t made any headway with Reid either. When Prentiss told her a redacted version of the club incident, J.J.’s blue gaze became worried and she folded her arms into her body in unconscious defensiveness.

“Last month he came over for dinner and I caught him staring at me and Henry. He just looked so…” J.J. took a deep breath. “Lost. It was like we were ghosts and he was mourning us. I gotta tell you it really disturbed me. After Will and I put the boys to bed, I pulled him aside and asked him - begged him - to talk to me. But he just shook me off.”

“Yeah,” Prentiss sighed. “Me too.”

“I don’t know what to do to get through to him. He’s never been this way before.”

“We just have to keep trying,” Prentiss said, though she didn’t have much faith in that tactic now.

Things came to a head during their quarterly open case review. Everyone was stuck in the conference room reviewing three months-worth of files and making determinations about whether to keep them active or to ‘cold case’ them. It was something they all hated doing, knowing that every file they tossed aside was a family without justice, questions without answers. Everyone was irritable and Prentiss expected it to be a rough couple of days until they finished.

Late in the afternoon on the first day, Reid got a call. Prentiss looked up from her stack and saw his face pale as he recognized the number. He got up and swiftly left the room as he took the call, everyone else barely lifting their heads from their paperwork as he passed. He disappeared out of sight and eventually obligation drew Prentiss back to her cases. An hour passed before she looked up and saw that he still hadn’t returned.

“He’s not back yet?” she asked quietly and J.J.’s head popped up first looking concerned.

“I’ll go find him,” she offered and Prentiss nodded, even though she wanted to go herself.

Twenty minutes later both J.J. and Reid returned together, Reid looking very unsteady. Prentiss glanced at J.J. who gave her a single headshake, _It’s not okay._ Prentiss raised an eyebrow questioningly, and J.J. simply shrugged. Whatever it was, she didn’t know anything. Prentiss ground her teeth silently and some unschooled, untamed part of her growled _‘enough is enough’_. The day slowly came to an end and one by one people drifted away out of fatigue or capitulation. Prentiss waited them all out, knowing that Reid would choose to stay and finish having no obligations to rush home to. Prentiss thought that they were the same that way, and had a moment of piercing sadness that they were both in the middle of their lives and essentially alone when it really mattered. J.J. was the last to leave and when she got up, she gave Prentiss a look. Prentiss just nodded back and J.J. puffed out a breath and gave her a quiet thumbs up sign behind Reid’s curved back. 

Then she waited. Head down, silent, trying to focus and instead spinning around this dilemma that had become so big and unwieldy since Houston. The office grew dark and quiet, and the only sounds were their pens scratching on paper and the clicks of their keyboards as they filed review after review. She sat back in her chair with a squeak that didn’t disturb him at all, frustrated and upset that she couldn’t figure him out. She wanted to just get up in his face about his behavior until she got answers, and in the past that had often worked for them. But that was when they were partners and friends. Now she was hesitating because she didn’t want to drive him away - that idea hurt her too much - and it was very obvious that _that_ impulse wasn’t friendly. She thought again about Morgan and Garcia, and wished that she understood how they’d achieved what they had. How did you love someone and remain brutally honest with them? What was it about the love of a _friend_ that was so singularly different from all other types of love?

He looked up at her suddenly and twitched a little to find her staring. In that moment she made another irrevocable decision, like to one to go to him in Texas, and pushed forward into it. She didn’t feel that she had much to lose anymore.

“What’s going on with you?” she said quietly. “What happened today?”

His mouth tightened and his fist curled around his pen. He just stared for a long time and she felt sure that he’d get up and walk out on her rather than answering.

“Mom attacked another resident at Bennington,” he mumbled and looked at his papers without seeing them. Prentiss couldn’t stop the gasp that seemed too loud in the room. “She didn’t recognize her surroundings or the other residents on her floor. When one of her friends tried to reassure her, she saw… something. Who knows what, but to Mom it was frightening. She struck out.”

He gulped loudly and then his fist clenched his pen until his skin turned white. “Orderlies had to restrain her to her bed.”

“Oh god, Reid…”

He nodded. “She wouldn’t settle and it was disturbing the rest of the floor so they moved her to the observation ward for the night. And they increased her anti-psychotics.”

He closed his eyes and then dropped his head into his hand. “The dosage is so high that all she can do is sit there and drool.”

“Fuck,” she muttered and then was on her feet, rounding the conference table and then squatting next to his chair, a hand stretched out over the one still clutching his pen. “But that’s temporary, right? Just until she levels out…”

“I don’t know.” His voice came out wet and muffled, and he refused to look at her. “She’s been declining rapidly since going back to Bennington. The Alzheimer’s meds do nothing for her now - the doses are just too low. The Institute has a zero tolerance policy towards patients who become violent. They only gave her a pass this time because I begged. The Director told me that if this happens again, they’d be forced to move her to a locked observation ward permanently. No living suite, no socialization, a bare minimum of personal items allowed…”

He took a deep breath and it came to him stuttered and uneven. She realized that he was crying, hiding it behind the hand grasping his forehead. She reached for him but he turned away and swiveled up smoothly from his chair. He kept his back to her.

“It’s… demeaning. Inhuman…” His shoulders shook as he said it, sounding bitter and defeated. “She deserves better. She’s not an animal.”

Prentiss rose to her feet, addressing his back. “What can we do?”

“Nothing,” he snapped and began stuffing things into his bag. “Nothing. This is… this is just the end. She devolves and gets treated like a dangerous infant and then she _just fucking dies._ That’s what happens now.”

He spun on his heel, swung his bag over his shoulders, and stomped out of the room without looking at her. For a second, she was so shocked by it that she just blinked uselessly before following him as he marched through the dark to the elevators. She caught up with him waiting at the elevator bank, stabbing the down button while furiously scrubbing the tears from his face.

“Hey, Reid… wait up… Reid!”

He refused to look at her, eyebrows low, face scarlet, grim lines all over him.

“ _Spencer_ ,” she growled. “I’m talking to you.”

He turned on her, all red-rimmed eyes and terrible, unused anger. “What? What do you want, Prentiss? You asked me, so I told you. What more do you need?”

“I want you to stop acting like an asshole, for a start,” she barked back, even though she understood that his anger wasn’t really for her. But months of frustrated efforts to help him had taken their toll on her. “All I did was ask how to help. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you. I’m so tired of you being a stubborn shit about this. Why are you insisting on doing this by yourself?! Why, when there’s me and J.J. and-”

“Why do you want to help so much?” he spat back. “What can you really do? Why do you even care? She’s not your mother…”

“I care because you’re my goddamned friend and I love you! And yeah, maybe I can’t do a damned thing for your mom, but I sure as hell can help _your_ stupid ass.” She ran a hand through her hair roughly and tried to get her pulse under control. It was booming at her temples and making her a little dizzy. She took a deep breath and held it. Opening her eyes, she saw him frozen half in rage and half in undiluted shock. “You said… when I came to Houston, you said that it _meant something_ that I would walk into your nightmare. Remember?”

He swallowed hard, anger melting from him instantly, and looked away. The elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open. They both stood in silence as time ticked by, and then the doors slid closed again without him inside.

“It still hurts to see you like this, Spencer,” she whispered and he twitched a little. “I can’t make this go away, but I can help. I know I can.”

“I don’t…” He choked off the rest wetly.

“You don’t what?”

He finally turned to face her, sagging as if he had no fight left in him. “I d-don’t want to use you.”

“Use me? I’m offering to help…”

“No, I mean… I-I don’t want to… for it to be like it was in Houston,” he stammered as he blushed violently. “I mean, I _do_ want that, but I don’t want to use our friendship that way. I-I don’t want to be with you just to ease my grief…”

Her throat went dry and her heart launched itself into her mouth. She shifted back and forth nervously, rubbing her forehead as she tried to wrap her brain around all the things she’d shoved aside about him that two sentences had brought crashing back again.

“Well… when I offered to help, that wasn’t exactly what I meant…”

Reid’s face went almost purple and his eyes shot to his feet immediately. _Shit, well that’s just perfect..._

“What I mean is,” she hurried. “I genuinely want to help - logistically or, you know, practically. But, Spencer…”

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand that was clutching the strap of his messenger bag and worrying it. His eyes rose to meet hers again.

“I… what happened in Houston… that was something else.” She swallowed hard and silently begged him to understand. She felt his finger begin to trace the edge of one of her ruined fingernails. “I know the timing is wrong and that you might think it’s all wrapped up in this shitty situation but… I could want more. More than friendship.”

His eyes got huge on her.

“Maybe a lot more,” she ended quietly.

“But… we work together. You’re my-”

“Don’t say that word,” she interrupted and got a half step closer to him so that their toes touched. “It’s screwed up - I’m not going to deny that - but… it’s how I feel.”

It felt as if he were silent forever. She couldn’t look up at him; she just stared at his sneakers and felt his fingers trace over hers again and again.

“The timing isn’t right,” he whispered, breath skimming across her neck. She nodded and bit her lip. _Shit. Shitshitshitballs._ “And I don’t want to lose our friendship.” A lump formed in her throat so quickly and dramatically that she found it hard to breathe. She continued staring at his shoes, noting the twists and frays of the laces and trying to force back the blurriness that was threatening her view. A swirl of failure and inadequacy combined into a perfect storm of self-recrimination: _What made you think he wanted you for more than just a roll in the sack? What power did you imagine you had now that was absent in the last ten years? All you are is older… a lonely cougar in a dubious position of authority over someone who’s never showed any interest before…_

A hand ghosted along her jaw hesitantly, trying to lift her sight up again. She looked and saw his worn expression, confused and smudged with exhaustion, but his eyes held that dangerous flicker. Dangerous and hopeful…

“But I could definitely want more as well,” he whispered.

He could? All she could do was lick her lips and nod, like a stunned, mute animal.

“I just… I just need to sort things out right now,” he said, banking that dangerous hope a little.

“Sure…” she breathed. “Sure, I get it. But while you’re doing that, let me help. Practically.”

He shook his head but then confused her by smiling. “So stubborn.” Then he leaned in and kissed her as if she were a dream from which he was about to awaken. He pulled her in gently, a hand tentatively wrapping around her hip while the other caressed down her neck and made her shiver against him. His mouth was soft, moving languidly as he pressed and held, and then let her go with a tiny sigh. He skimmed his lips over to her cheek and left a small peck there as well and she curled into it, whimpering just loud enough for him to hear it.

“So sensitive to every touch,” he husked into her skin, almost sounding shocked. “I want to learn you…”

“Jesus,” she whispered back into his jaw and then nipped it as he withdrew. “Get outta here before we get carried away.”

He watched her intently as he stabbed at the down button again. She felt her face burn. There was no going back now; even if she chose to forget it, he never would. The elevator arrived and he shuffled inside, leaning against the back of the cab and staring at her as if she were wholly new to him.

“So, do we have a deal about letting me help?” she pressed as the elevator dinged again and the doors began sliding.

“We’ll see,” he smiled shyly and then the elevator whisked him away.

“Unbelievable,” she grumbled, and ran her hand through her hair again. Then she turned back to the bullpen and came face-to-face with reality.

“What the _what?!_ ” Garcia stood just inside the main doorway, staring at her gape-mouthed. “Did you just kiss Spencer Reid?!??”

“Fuck.” Prentiss rolled her eyes. Nothing was ever easy. “What are you still doing here, Garcia?”

“No, no, no you don’t.” Garcia waggled a finger at her and stepped into the light wearing an alien look of righteous indignation. “Answer the question: were you just making out with Doctor Cheekbones at frickin’ work?!?”

“We weren’t making out,” Prentiss hushed her and looked around even though it was past eight and the floor was mostly dark. “Keep your voice down.”

“Why should I keep my voice down _if you weren’t making out with your subordinate at the office?_ ”

“Fine, fine, yes… we kissed, but it’s not like that, Penelope.”

“It’s not like what, exactly?” Garcia crossed her arms and looked as fearsome as she ever managed with her glittery hair accessories and perky flowered dresses. “Were you feeding him like a baby bird? Or maybe you were teaching him how to play Paddy Cake with your tongue…”

“Listen, there was _no tongue_ , okay?” Prentiss grabbed her friend’s hands and squeezed them as some sort of plea to be reasonable. “This - whatever it is - is new and… really fucking complicated-”

Garcia snorted, non-plussed.

“And it’s happened kinda quickly and…” Prentiss flung her arms out suddenly, irritated at her lack of certainty about anything. “I don’t even know if it’s real at this point, okay? So do me a favor, since there’s a tremendous possibility that it’ll crash and burn on me, just let me flame out on my own on this one.”

Garcia frowned but looked a little chastened by Prentiss’s frustration. She adjusted her glasses and then cleared her throat. “So, like, how long has this been going on?”

“Nothing’s been going on, P. There was that kiss,” Prentiss wiggled her fingers at the elevator. “And one at the bar you dragged us to a while back.” Garcia was about to comment but Prentiss held up her hand to stop her. “He was insanely drunk. Honestly, I don’t think it counts. And… then there was an incident when I went to see him while he was in Houston.”

“An _incident?_ ” Garcia quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah. An incident. That’s all you’re getting, okay?”

“Wait… Houston was like, six months ago. I thought you said that this happened quickly.”

“I did.”

“Well, two kisses and ‘an incident’ in six months is… let’s just say that your “quickly” is fairly sedate compared to a Kim Kardashian-kinda “quickly”.”

“That makes me feel so much better. Thanks a bunch, Garcia,” Prentiss snarked.

Garcia was quiet for a second as she looked Prentiss over. “So, what did you mean when you said you weren’t sure if it was real?”

Prentiss sighed and turned away a little, trying not to think about the feel of his lips or how excited she got at the idea of him ‘learning’ her. “He’s already grieving for his mom,” she murmured. “He says he doesn’t want to use me, abuse our friendship for the sake of that grief. What if… what if he comes out on the other side of all of this and _grief_ is all it was to him?”

“Oh,” Garcia patted a hand to her chest and started blinking too much. “Oh, honey,” she gasped. “Here I was thinking that you were just having a bit of fun with him… You really _do_ care about him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, P. We’ve been friends forever.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, Lady Bird. You care about _being_ with him…”

Prentiss looked back at Garcia, saw how her judgment had melted into something soft and knowing instead. _I am so completely screwed,_ she told herself.

“What if… what if he ties us to Diana’s disease?” she whispered, trying not to imagine it too vividly. “What if he can’t stand to be around me after she’s gone?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he? Maybe he wouldn’t want to, but he just couldn’t live with the memories of it. He can’t forget anything, Penelope. I don’t think any of us can appreciate what that’s like for him, especially since his mom is losing all of hers. Maybe…” Prentiss gulped a little. “Maybe he’d just feel guilty, to the exclusion of everything else.”

“Guilty?”

“Because I distracted his focus. Because I made him feel better when he felt he didn’t deserve it. Or maybe just because I’m still here and Diana isn’t.”

“Oh god, honey…” Garcia rushed forward and wrapped her up in a hug. “He wouldn’t. Not to you, not to his friend…”

“That’s where I think I fucked up, Garcia,” Prentiss mumbled unsteadily into Garcia’s shoulder as she held her. “It’s not the boss thing, or even the dying mother thing. I think the moment I kissed him, we stopped being friends. I… don’t know how to care like this and still be his friend, and I don’t think he knows how to do that either. So, what happens if _he stops caring?_ ”

Dammit. They were going to crash and burn hard. She could already feel it coming.


	3. Las Vegas

Prentiss wasn’t given a lot of time to worry about her decision. She and Reid danced around it uncertainly for a few weeks without making any real headway. He didn’t address it at work, and he had yet to ask for the help that she’d so insistently offered. His mood was marginally better but she was deflated by her absolute failure to make an impact on him. Again. It felt as if they were moving backwards.

And then he just disappeared.

He didn’t show up for a briefing, and he’d been fine when she saw him the day before. She waited for a reasonable amount of time, asking J.J. if she’d heard from him and receiving a wary look and a ‘no’ for her trouble. Garcia raised her eyebrows, silently concerned by his absence, and then Prentiss slipped under her leadership armor and pressed on.

“I don’t know where Reid is. We’ll have to catch him up later. Let’s begin…” she said, feeling a painful knot tighten at the center of her.

As soon as the briefing was done she called him and got voicemail. She left a message and waited. And waited. And waited. Six hours later she left another message, and both Garcia and J.J. were checking in at her office every half hour for updates.

“Still nothing,” Prentiss sighed as the sun went down.

“It’s not like him,” J.J. murmured.

“What if… you know, what if something’s happened to him?” Garcia frowned. “Crazy horrible stuff happens to you guys way too often, ya know…”

Prentiss was more than aware of that possibility, and so was the terrible cramp in her stomach. “Garcia, check ER admissions and Metro PD reports for the last twenty-four hours. Focus on incidents involving unidentified males in his age range. If something happened and he had his i.d. on him, we’d have been contacted already.” 

Garcia nodded.

“And, Garcia… keep this quiet for now. In case we’re overreacting,” she murmured, and then Garcia was gone. Prentiss looked up into J.J.’s quiet worry. “Could he be using again?”

“I don’t know,” J.J. whispered and it sounded terrified. “I really don’t.”

“Do you know any of his NA support contacts?”

J.J. nodded but didn’t elaborate.

“Reach out to them if you can. If he’s slipped, we need to know.”

J.J. stepped away with a soft ‘hmmm’ and a nod leaving Prentiss alone and more frightened than she wanted to be.

“Damn you, Spencer,” she grumbled to give herself a small sliver of control again. She wished more than anything that Hotch were there to give her some advice. “This is really pushing my buttons…”

She pulled out her cell phone and funneled every inch of her former boss as she hammered out a text that was all button-down suit-and-tie with no room for anything remotely soft.

**Prentiss: Answer your phone. Explain the situation. I’m willing to be reasonable, but sudden, mysterious absence is unacceptable behavior. You know how seriously we take this sort of thing.**

He finally reached out forty-five minutes later.

“She died,” he said simply after she picked up her phone and listened to almost twenty seconds of nothing before he spoke.

“Spencer?”

“I’m in Vegas. Nothing’s happened to me. Well, nothing criminal…”

And now she was a swirl of relief and sadness and fury and terrible, pressing _need_ , and it was making it almost impossible to think straight. “When?” she gasped.

“Last night. They think it was a massive stroke.” He sounded fuzzy, numb.

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” Prentiss tried swallowing down some of her anger, tried to turn it into useful energy instead. “Why didn’t you call me? Why did you just… take off without telling anyone?”

“I didn’t think about it,” he said flatly, and it hurt like hell. She shook it off, and the dread that followed it, making her eyes sting with _stuff_ she didn’t want to give into.

“I’ll round up the team. We can be there in a few hours-”

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t want that. Any of that.”

 _Any of that?_ “Why?”

He sighed across the phone as if she were an annoying child. “This is mine to deal with. It’s personal. I’m not… putting on a show for people so that they can feel better about themselves. No matter how much they care.”

Her rage crested so sharply that it made her rock back in her office chair. “Well, that’s your choice,” she gritted out as evenly as she could muster. “But I’m coming down there whether you give me permission or not. You’ll just have to _withstand_ that. I’m done waiting for you to ask for help, Spencer. This time you’re getting it, you’ll accept it, and keep your stubborn resentment to yourself.”

There was a long minute of tortured, incendiary silence over the line, followed by a seething, “Fine.”

“Fine,” she snipped back and then tried to smooth it out a little. “Do you need me to bring anything?”

“No.”

She took another long pause. “I want to bring J.J.” There was a sigh from him that was spooling up into another argument. “I’m not sure I could stop her from coming anyway.”

“Then just don’t tell her,” he bit out.

“Spence…” she warned as if to say _‘you’re acting like a lunatic right now’._

“Fine,” he gusted out eventually. “I’ll text you the address of the funeral home and where I’m staying.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmmm,” he intoned like a guy under duress. 

“Spence?”

“Yeah?” he said tiredly.

“I’m sorry.” _Sorry for Houston. Sorry for being so **me**. Sorry for ruining what it took us ten years to create._ “I’m sorry that she’s gone,” she clarified.

There was another long pause and then a deep, wet intake of breath over the line. “I’m not,” he mumbled and then hung up on her. She just sat in her chair, listening to the dial tone, and staring at nothing. Then she dropped her phone and buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to just shake for a while, to get it out of her system.

Fifteen minutes later she was composed and leaning in through J.J.’s office doorway.

“Grab your go bag,” she said softly. “You and I are going to Vegas. Right now.”

J.J. just sagged back into her chair as her expression crumbled. “Fuck,” was all she said.

\----

By the time Prentiss and J.J. caught up with Reid he was standing in a funeral home showroom looking perplexed by the sheer number of human disposal options presented to him. He was muted and rumpled, wearing only shades of grey, and his hair in a tangle that matched his expression as he half-listened to the solemn sales rep. J.J. called out to him softly and he looked up, seeing both of them lingering in the showroom doorway. Recognition lifted him for an instant and he tried to smile, didn’t really succeed, and then looked worried and lost.

J.J. moved forward smoothly, never hesitating, and wrapped him up in a hug. The salesman backed away as Reid’s eyes went huge, looked to Prentiss in a brief flicker, and then huffed and seemed to fall into J.J.’s tiny frame. He closed his eyes and pulled her close, strain leaking out through the lines on his face, and he just let her rock him. Prentiss stared, feeling completely intrusive on what was a very personal, loving moment. And she felt the snap of reality sting her when she realized that she wouldn’t be allowed the same access to him. It was clear to her now that something _lived_ between him and J.J., but that something did not exist between him and Prentiss. Whatever his history with J.J., it was sustainable. Like Garcia and Morgan, it survived changes and commitments beyond its boundaries. But Prentiss didn’t have anything like that with him.

J.J. eventually pulled back, cupping his face gently and murmuring things Prentiss couldn’t hear. His expression softened, almost broke on him, and then he nodded giving her a soft kiss on her cheek. Then he looked up at Prentiss and his expression changed again: it was wary, sorrowful, and it didn’t invite her in. That look tore her open, but she pushed past the bleeding, pushed into the showroom, and put her game face on.

“Hey,” she nodded to him.

“Hi,” he said quietly, one arm still around J.J.’s shoulders. “Thanks for coming. Both of you.”

“Sure,” Prentiss said, privately shriveling. “Put us to work. What do you need done?”

He blinked, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next, and then he shrugged, looking around the showroom in an overwhelmed manner. “I’ve gotta choose an urn…”

J.J. helped him pick a container while Prentiss unleashed her frightening practicality on the funeral home director. Diana didn’t have a plan in place, so Prentiss worked out something modest and dignified as she thought befitted Reid’s mother. When the director showed her the invoice and asked about payment, she slipped her personal credit card across his desk. She didn’t think twice about it. The Prentiss family money ought to be good for something; Diana’s final send-off seemed the least she could do. Reid reviewed the arrangements, nodding listlessly, and then fumbled for his wallet. Prentiss caught his wrist and shook her head.

“Diana prepaid for everything,” she murmured, and the funeral director’s expression became a mask of blandness.

“Oh,” Reid said, still looking confused.

J.J. - too sharp by far - seemed to put it all together and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together and drawing his attention back to her. “Let’s get something to eat, okay? Then we can talk about who we should ask to the service.”

“Okay,” he sighed and let her lead him where she wanted. Prentiss felt a stab of jealousy and then told herself to get over it, falling into line behind them and out into the parking lot.

They found someplace quiet and the vibe seemed to calm all three of them a little. Reid slid into a seat next to J.J., across from Prentiss, and he seemed to lean towards J.J. unconsciously as if she were holding him up. He didn’t eat much, picking at his food in between small bursts of conversation. They let him say what he wanted, or fall silent as he wished. Prentiss was amazed that the entire conversation was so direct - he didn’t deflect anything, talking about his mother almost constantly with a sort of halting honesty. Gloomily, Prentiss wondered if it was J.J.’s effect on him…

“I feel relieved,” he sighed, pushing a piece of broccoli around his plate. “Do you think that’s wrong?”

“No, Spence,” J.J. grabbed his free hand and held it tightly. He looked up at her and the softness returned to his face. “She was suffering, fading. And then something unexpected came along and put a stop to that without any warning, or any pain. I think that relief is a natural response to that.”

Prentiss watched them together and then the thought _‘they love each other’_ bloomed in her mind unbidden. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she wondered when everyone around her figured out how to care for each other this way and she didn’t. What lived between J.J. and Reid was intimate, and it managed to exist alongside her marriage and family. She ached to know what that felt like, to love so unselfishly. All of her impulses towards Reid suddenly seemed basic and unworthy compared to this. Reid’s gaze turned to Prentiss and whatever he saw there caused a wrinkle of worry to form between his brows. She hastily slipped herself behind one of her many masks to hide from him.

“You know there aren’t any rules to grief, Reid,” she said quietly. “What you feel is what you feel. If people pass judgment on that, it’s their problem, not yours. You’ve gotta do what you have to in order to move through this. Your mom’s beyond worrying - _you’ve_ got to be your primary focus now.”

She wanted to say _‘I know it was only grief - I know you didn’t mean it - It’s okay’_ , but that would have to wait. Maybe she’d never say it. Maybe they’d just never mention it again - like some sort of mutually ignored fever dream - and he’d come back to work and she’d be his boss. End of drama. He stared at her strangely and when she looked away, she saw that J.J. was focused on her as well. Was her statement that weird? She was probably being oversensitive.

“Well, it’s not only relief,” he said eventually. “It’s lots of things all together really.” His eyes flicked to Prentiss and then away again. “I just found the sense of relief disturbing is all.”

“Well, sure,” J.J. said. “Who wouldn’t? But Emily’s right: there’s nothing wrong about what you feel. You’ve got to take care of you for once, Spencer, even if it means wading into all of this unpleasant b.s.”

Reid huffed out a surprised laugh - just for a moment and then it died away under his curiosity. J.J. just shrugged.

“I felt all sorts of confusing shit when my sister died, and I spent too much time trying to pretend that I didn’t. It sets you back. It’s not worth it.”

He nodded and let his gaze become unfocused as he thought about what she’d said. Then he turned to look at Prentiss, and there was something warm in that look for the first time. J.J. glanced back and forth at them for a moment, and then she fumbled in her pocket for her phone.

“Listen, it’s almost bedtime for the boys back home. I’m just gonna give them a quick call to say goodnight, okay?” She smiled and rose from her seat letting go of Reid’s hand. He smiled back at her.

“Say goodnight for me.”

“From me too,” Prentiss added and then watched J.J. drift away for some privacy. She turned back to Reid and he was looking at her, but in a distant way as if he were thinking of something else.

“It was good that J.J. came,” she murmured eventually. He snapped out of his daze at her voice.

“It was good that you both came.”

“You listen to her. She calms you,” she continued, her stomach rolling miserably. “You guys have a connection.”

He made a strange noise and then ran his fingers through his hair, looking much older than he was. “We do. She’s… special to me.”

“Of course,” Prentiss nodded and fiddled with her napkin. She heard him sigh across from her.

“She was my first,” he said quietly and waited for her to meet his eyes. “My first love, first intimate, first everything.”

Prentiss just blinked. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to press any further into this. Reid laid both his hands flat along the tablecloth and took a big breath in, bracing himself.

“It was before you came to the Unit, and it was just once. I was so young.” He smiled slightly. Prentiss had always thought of him as young but in reality, he’d aged and changed with experience as much as any of them. Maybe more so. “I was unbelievably naïve. All knowledge and no practical understanding, and I found myself in one of the most dangerous jobs I could’ve chosen. I couldn’t have been more obvious if I’d walked around all day with a target taped to my shirt.”

He chuckled and she just continued staring.

“She was so nice to me. That was entirely new to me: a pretty girl who was kind. I fancied that I’d fallen in love with her.” He smirked. “I thought I was soooo subtle about it but everyone knew… everyone saw my hopeless crush. But she didn’t mock me or dissuade me, which just fuelled my delusion.”

“She… she didn’t?” Prentiss murmured. Reid shook his head.

“She liked me a great deal, but I’m sure she knew it was puppy love. But I asked her on a date and she accepted anyway. I was awkward but she smoothed out the rough patches. She smiled and laughed and I was in heaven the whole time. She even let me kiss her. I never expected anything more.”

“But you…” Prentiss made a vague hand gesture and Reid nodded, his cheeks pinking slightly.

“She told me that she cared for me, but not _that way_. I remember thinking that I thought the rejection would hurt more, but I guess a part of me was insightful enough to know that we weren’t on equal footing. Then she leaned in and told me what a lovely evening she’d had and that some day, when I found the right woman, I’d understand what that night was all about. Then she kissed me again and it was different. She asked me to stay - told me that first dates weren’t really like this but, she wanted to give me that night, that experience. She said she wanted to be the one because she _did_ love me in a way, and she said the first should always be with someone you trust, who feels about it the way you do.”

Prentiss thought about a young J.J. loving her awkward friend enough to save him from ridicule or embarrassment. To give that boy something unique and beautiful that he’d always cherish and they’d always share in secret, even as they became different people. A love that could bend and stretch and adapt to accommodate almost anything. _That_ was singular, extraordinary. That was love that transcended physicality into something more, something almost spiritual perhaps. Prentiss watched Reid talk about this _gift_ that was his first time and thought she had nothing to offer that would ever match it. Being together had ruined her and Reid but it had _made_ him and J.J. Prentiss felt the age-old jinx of soiling everything she touched.

“So, we were together and it was wonderful. _She_ was wonderful. We agreed to keep it secret - just for us. And I’ve never regretted it, never felt resentful that it wasn’t anything more. It was enough, and it’s just a small part of how I love her now. She’s made my life so much richer, given me godsons to love and an extended family to go back to when I need them… That night was just the first step in all of that.”

He fell silent and watched Prentiss carefully. The smudges under his eyes were dark and hollow, but his gaze was sharp, focused on her reaction with too much intensity.

“Uh… wow,” she breathed when it became obvious he expected her to talk. “Why did you tell me that?”

“Because you deserve to know,” he said and leaned closer, his stare getting too forceful.

She deserved to know why it would never work out for them? How she’d always fall short of this incredible memory of J.J.? She didn’t think he was trying to be cruel, but it certainly felt that way. She just nodded listlessly, and when she could finally look him in the eye again he seemed fearful, forehead creased and lines tightening around his eyes. She sat back suddenly and raised her eyebrows questioningly, but J.J. reappeared and sat with a huff before either of them could say anything else. J.J. looked at both of them for a second before she gestured between them.

“What just happened?” she asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” Prentiss mumbled and shrugged it off.

“I told her something personal,” Reid almost whispered still staring at her.

“Yes,” Prentiss snapped but refused to look at him. She threw her napkin onto the table and stood abruptly. “Something I didn’t want to hear. And now I have to live with it.”

She walked away without looking back. She didn’t care if it was rude or if it felt like she was abandoning Reid when he needed her the most. There was only so much rejection she could take in one day, and she needed some air. She burst through the restaurant entrance and out into the balmy Las Vegas night with a gust of relief. Running both hands through her hair, she looked up into the neon-drenched skyline and silently asked the universe for a little serenity, just a little foothold of calm in this chaotic scenario so she could get through it and back to the life she understood with the least amount of personal harm done. A minute later she heard the door whisk open behind her with the clatter of conversations and flatware flaring and then silencing as she waited to find out if the anticipated voice would be husky and hurt or melodic and concerned.

“What did he say?” J.J. murmured above the hiss of passing traffic. “You know he’s half out of his mind right now, don’t you? Whatever it was, he didn’t mean it.”

“He absolutely did mean it,” Prentiss grumbled, heart folding in on itself painfully. Then she felt J.J.’s hand on her shoulder turning her so they could look each other in the eye. Prentiss sighed as J.J. just stared and waited. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“That’s obvious crap,” J.J. mumbled as one side of her mouth lifted in a smile.

Prentiss shook her head. “He just needs you, Jen. He trusts you. You guys have this… thing.” She made a hand gesture that J.J. watched curiously. Then she sighed loudly.

“You’re his best friend, Emily. Of course he needs you here.”

“You’ve _got_ to be joking, Jen.”

J.J.’s eyebrows rose. “No, I’m not. You know that he doesn’t trust anyone to be brutal with him more than you, right?”

“I don’t want to be _brutal_ with him,” Prentiss snapped and then felt a flush stain her cheeks. “I don’t want the responsibility of being his begrudging reality check. That’s a shitty, fucking job to have.” _And I already have a shitty, fucking job…_

J.J. watched her in silence for a long moment with just the sound of passing cars as insufficient distraction from her gaze. “I know that you’ve been battling with how to balance being his friend and being his boss,” she said eventually, and the shock of it forced Prentiss to look at her again. “You’ve been trying to figure it out with all of us, but it’s extra difficult with him.”

J.J. was far too observant for her own good.

“And you _are_ his best friend, even now.”

“Jen-”

“Emily, I know he tells you things he’s never told me,” J.J. hushed as she moved closer, but she said it in a way that suggested it irked her a little. “Things that he’s never had any intention of telling me. There’s stuff that I understand about him, and a connection - sure - but you’re in a category all by yourself in his mind.”

J.J. shook her head, her perfect blonde hair swishing angrily. “He’s such a stupid guy sometimes. He doesn’t say things he ought to, or he says too much too bluntly and it pushes people away… But he needs you, Em, in a singular way that I don’t pretend to understand. And I think you need him too because there’s something about his twitchy neuroses that keeps you grounded and honest, even when it’s hard. Even when you’re his boss. He makes you more human, reminds you how to be soft. That’s important.”

J.J.’s hand slid down Prentiss’s arm and squeezed it. “He’s grieving, and maybe that’s making him a bit of a jerk at the moment. But don’t let that get to you because you make each other so much better most of the time. It’s beautiful to watch.”

Prentiss blinked too much, trying to calm her pulse and the flare of hope that J.J. had traitorously kindled in the center of her mind. “I just don’t… I don’t feel like I’m helping right now,” she gulped, and then watched as J.J. smiled and then shrugged.

“Fake it.”

Prentiss’s eyebrows rose and J.J. chuckled a little. “Just fake it until he reaches out for you again. And he will - it’s just a matter of time. I fake understanding with him all over the place, you know. He’s pretty inscrutable - sometimes I don’t have a choice.”

Prentiss couldn’t help but laugh at that. She felt relieved that she wasn’t the only one flailing around in a genius’s wake. But she was more than a little impressed that J.J.’s knowing disguise was so seamless.

“You’re a dangerous, fucking agent, Jareau,” Prentiss murmured and then gave her a quick hug. J.J.’s arms squeezed her back tightly.

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” she chuckled warmly and then pulled away. “Now let’s get back in there before he dreams up some terrible reason as to why we’ve both abandoned him.”

“Alright.”

“Atta girl, Boss Woman,” J.J. bumped her gently as they turned to go back inside and Prentiss swatted her and muttered, “Don’t call me that” in response.

\----

Prentiss was amazed at how many people showed up to Diana Reid’s funeral. The strange variety of mourners was also startling. There were a smattering of colleagues from her teaching days, some old friends, and a surprising array of middle-aged professionals who had once been her students. Removed from both her and her mental illness by decades, these people arrived in surprising groups standing next to Bennington staff members and their unstable charges in an uneasy but determined display of mourning. The Bennington residents behaved themselves, even those who couldn’t help the twitching or nervous ticks at being out in the real world for an afternoon, and every single one seemed to have an emotional stake in Diana’s death. Prentiss thought it remarkable and a touching tribute that a woman who’d been so compromised for so many years had nevertheless made such an obvious impact on so many. It made her inexplicably proud and when her eyes drifted over to Reid as he greeted the guests, she realized that he shared this trait with his mother. And neither one of them probably realized how much they touched others.

The service was quick and to the point, held outside the vault where Diana’s ashes would be interred in the brilliant Las Vegas sunshine. A few mourners stepped forward to say a few words. Bennington’s chief clinician was especially moving and insightful into the woman he’d personally cared for over half of his career. Reid didn’t speak and Prentiss hadn’t expected him to; his grief was still far too close and he’d been adamant that whatever he felt wasn’t for anyone but him. Prentiss despaired that she couldn’t break through that barrier but clung to J.J.’s words about him needing her and eventually reaching out for help. 

During the service Reid held close to J.J., his arm around her shoulders and curling into her diminutive frame as if she could keep his lanky self from collapsing on the spot. J.J.’s hands stood out, pale and fragile, against Reid’s trim black suit - one around his waist and one possessively over his abdomen rising and falling as he breathed. He didn’t move, didn’t cry, and barely even blinked, just bending like a tree in the wind towards the woman many probably assumed was his wife. Prentiss stood on his other side but wholly removed from him as if there were a thousand miles between them rather than a foot. She swallowed back how much that hurt, how she wanted to be the one who held him up, how she ached to feel the warmth of him leaning into her in an unspoken admission that she still mattered. Instead she focused on the words being said, the mourning expressions, and the birds winding high in the midday sky. She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. She thought of Diana’s courage and strain throughout her difficult life. She thought of the love that she encouraged, how it was evident around them today. She thought of the tremendous boy she raised mostly on her own, and what a remarkable feat that was. A tear slipped down her cheek and temporarily cooled it against the sun’s rays.

Then she felt fingers lace through hers at her side, and turned to find Reid looking at her as if she’d miraculously appeared next to him. His grip tightened, and she squeezed his hand in response, both staring in shock at one another. His face was full of questions, and he swallowed a few times as if he were trying to find a way to ask them in the heavy silence that surrounded them. And then she wiped away her tears quickly with her free hand and he became fixated on that gesture; she could almost see his surprise at her display of grief. His throat moved some more, making his purple tie bob against the uncharacteristically-buttoned collar, and she wanted to reach out and undo it, to release him from this tied down disguise he’d slid into for everyone else’s benefit. It must have shown on her face because his eyes softened and he almost smiled, and then he shuffled a little closer while still holding onto J.J., stroking her hand lightly with his thumb. He stared for a moment longer, his gaze a hazel-hued, wordless thanks for what she considered to be an unthinking gesture, and then he turned his eyes forward again and stood between the two women who acted like guard towers to his fortress. And his thumb kept circling, circling, circling…

She felt shivery and helpless, and more than anything she wanted to lean against him and whisper something meaningful and just for them into his ear. At that moment she had a wave of nausea when she realized she was falling and she had no assurance at all that he’d be there to catch her. 

The service ended and the mourners retired to the funeral home for a reception that Reid had fought against vociferously. J.J. had insisted and he’d walked away grumbling, letting _that_ be his grudging permission to extend his misery. Prentiss fully expected it to be a challenging four hours. She hadn’t expected it to nearly end in a fistfight.

Reid was wandering around the reception room, meeting and speaking to guests without the moorings of Prentiss and J.J. for the first time that day. Prentiss took advantage of the break to have a well-deserved drink and to rest her ‘supportive friend’ mask for a moment. She fell into conversation with one of Diana’s former grad students when J.J. slid up next to her and gave her a worried look. 

“Who’s he talking to?” she whispered over the rim of her wineglass, and Prentiss cast around until her eyes found him. His back was to them, ramrod straight in his tailored black suit, and he was gesticulating sharply at random intervals to the older man in front of him. The other guy had grey hair, a grey suit, and a grey expression of distaste that Prentiss recognized in a distant sort of way. And then, in a moment, it all snapped into place.

“William Reid,” she growled lowly, and J.J.’s eyes narrowed as she stared with renewed concern.

“He’s got some balls,” she murmured as if she were going to pull her gun out.

“He’s got something,” Prentiss added and then turned to face J.J. “I’m gonna go butt in.”

“Uh huh,” J.J. nodded approvingly.

Prentiss wove through the crowd with a benign look on her face that completely hid the protective growling need that wanted to leak out of her and splash all over the place. She sidled up next to Reid at the tail end of a grumbling exchange and decided _not_ to introduce herself.

“-mentally incapacitated guests,” William Reid hissed lowly and threw a judging look at his son. “It’s completely inappropriate, Spencer.”

“They are her friends, William,” Reid hissed back. _William, not ‘Dad’._ “It’s not more inappropriate than you showing up uninvited.”

“I’m her husband-”

“EX-husband. EX-father. EX-everything.” Reid’s voice got louder. Prentiss decided now was the time to step in.

“Mr. Reid,” she said with the sort of confident authority she’d learned from her mother. “Emily Prentiss. I’m a friend of Spencer.”

William took a double take and then seemed irritated that she’d interrupted. “Hello, Ms. Prentiss. If you don’t mind, I’m having a private conversation with my son so-”

“He’s here for money,” Reid spoke up too loudly and didn’t tear his eyes away from William. “He’s trying to pretend that it’s out of concern for Mom, but all he wants is some damned money he claims he gave to her years ago.”

“It’s not a claim, son. I have the cheques to prove it.”

Reid took two menacing steps forward until he was right up in his father’s face. William actually stumbled back at the aggression rolling off Reid. “I am not your son,” Reid growled.

“You certainly are,” William said, not sensing his son’s patented emotional deafness. “You don’t know what happened between me and your mother, Spencer. You were too young, and it’s not your place to judge my marriage or what your mother and I agreed upon when I left.”

“You’re right: I don’t know. But the fact that you _left_ and never bothered to check in on us or help _means_ that in every way that matters, you are not my father, William.”

“I _did_ help,” William’s eyebrows lowered as he stepped into Reid’s personal space. “That’s what the money was for. In the beginning, it was child support, but after you institutionalized her, it was for her care and housing.”

Reid’s face went scarlet alarmingly fast as Prentiss watched. “I paid every Bennington bill myself. From my savings, my credit, from money I didn’t damn well have and had to work to the bone to get. She never had any money. She never even _mentioned_ having any.”

William took a step back and his features smoothed into a blank mask as he did so. “She told me she put it into a trust for you.”

Reid blinked rapidly, looking _stuck_ for a moment. “When did she tell you this?”

William smoothed his tie down along his shirt. “A few years ago. I went to see her and we got into it. I was worried about her state of mind, and she was still cashing the cheques every month-”

“You wanted to know if you could stop paying her,” Reid interrupted too loudly and the conversations around them stopped. Prentiss felt the furtive glances of dozens of eyes fall upon them. “What was it, William? Did you get resentful that you still owed her anything? Or did you just want to buy something shiny and expensive?”

“Reid…” Prentiss grabbed Reid’s arm and squeezed.

“Spencer, I have two grown children in college,” William sighed wearily. “Do you have any idea how expensive that is?”

“I know exactly how expensive it is, _DAD!_ ” Reid bellowed, and now the whole room was silent and staring. William’s eyes flicked around nervously.

“It’s not my fault that you mother hid the money. How was I supposed to know that she wouldn’t use it appropriately?”

“She was a paranoid schizophrenic! What did you think she’d do with it?!?” Reid’s hands were flapping about like mad birds’ wings and a vein in his neck was bulging ominously. 

William cleared his throat awkwardly, his face flushing at the increasing scrutiny this conversation was conferring on him. “Regardless of my mistakes, she didn’t use the money as intended - either for her care or yours - so I want it back. I worked hard and made sacrifices to support her. If she didn’t use it then-”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Prentiss found herself saying and then discovered both men looking at her as if they’d forgotten she was there. “You came to your ex-wife’s funeral to ask your estranged son for money? Are you really that much of an insensitive shitheel?”

“Ms. Prentiss,” William began, working up to a new level of irritation.

“You’ll get it back,” Reid interrupted, expression grim and eyes glassy. He shook off Prentiss’s grip when she mumbled his name. “Every last penny. As soon as I find out where she put it, and even if I can’t, I’ll mortgage everything I have to get rid of you. I don’t want a single, damn fiber of you left in my life.”

“Spencer…” William looked upset for the first time since Prentiss had approached them. Reid raised a long, accusing finger and buried it deep into his father’s chest.

“Today I buried my _parent_ \- the only one I have. From this point on, I’m an orphan.”

Reid’s finger fell away from William with a soft ‘rrrr’ sound as it scraped the man’s expensive suit jacket and he took one long, last moment to stare down the person who made him and then abandoned him. Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the funeral home. Prentiss watched him go and bit her lip; she wanted to follow but didn’t know if Reid could withstand it or if he’d just aim his stalled rage at her instead of William. Beside her in the pointed silence, William coughed.

“He didn’t mean that,” he mumbled to no one in particular. Prentiss turned her disbelieving gaze on him.

“You don’t know your son at all,” she said. “And you don’t deserve to.”

William just pursed his lips and scowled at her.

“How much did you give Diana?” she asked.

“One hundred seventy-six thousand, eight hundred forty-eight dollars and sixty-one cents. With interest,” he said without batting an eyelash.

Prentiss glared at him and then pulled herself up to her full height. “You’ll have a cashier’s cheque by the end of the week.” She’d have to cash out her 401K, but it was worth it. “If you ever contact him again, set a single, fucking toenail into his life, I’ll use every favor I have to make you regret that choice for what remains of your reptilian existence. Am I being clear?”

“Excruciatingly,” William’s lips twisted, crossing his arms as if to suggest that he wasn’t afraid of her. But the vein throbbing rapidly at his temple told another story. Prentiss turned to leave the snake behind her when he cleared his throat again.

“Ms. Prentiss, aren’t you forgetting something? Don’t you need to know where to send the cheque?”

“Mr. Reid,” she sighed exhaustedly. “I’ve worked undercover for three separate policing agencies, been trained as an assassin, and am the chief director of an elite federal crime investigation unit. There is _nowhere_ you can be where I cannot find you. Something you should bear in mind for your future endeavors, whatever they may be.”

She gave William Reid one last look that promised him she’d never forget what he did that day, and then she walked out into the Las Vegas heat in hopes of burning off some of her escalating, terrible frustration.

\----

**Prentiss: Have you heard from him yet?**

**J.J.: No**

**Prentiss: Should we be worried?**

**J.J.: Give him tonight to blow off some steam. Today was fucking brutal. God damn William Reid.**

**Prentiss: Amen to that.**

**Prentiss: But if we don’t hear from him by tomorrow morning?**

**J.J.: Oh yeah, we hunt him down like he’s the Unabomber. Absolutely. Even my patience with him has limits.**

**Prentiss: LOL! Okay, good night then.**

 

She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t tune out the worry from her aching head. She wanted him back, wanted him close, even if he was a blubbering mess or terrifyingly still and silent. Just… _there_ where she could see him and understand that he wasn’t harming himself, on the surface anyway. And he’d _hate_ that impulse completely. He’d hate her for this instinct to coddle, for the lack of authority it assumed that he could marshal over his problems. She knew that and then she hated herself for her instincts. Christ, this was hard. She’d never had to work so actively at managing so many impulses towards a single person before.

She tossed in her bed, praying for sleep. The hotel sheets were too crisp, the pillows too soft, the room was too quiet and cool and antiseptic. She considered drinking. She considered going out and finding a convenient stranger to fuck. She considered that she might be going out of her mind and then worried about whether it was too late to stop it from happening.

And then there was a knock at her door.

He was leaning heavily against the frame when she swung the door open, his suit a little less immaculate than earlier and his tie askew, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His eyes ran over her from top to bottom, slowly. He didn’t even try to disguise it, and her face flushed in the darkness as she wondered what he made of her answering the door late at night in a worn Sex Pistols t-shirt and men’s boxer briefs. She had a lot of questions buzzing around inside her head but she didn’t say anything, just staring at him instead as he stared back and simply waited. Eventually she stood away from the door, a silent invitation to come in, and he pushed himself unsteadily forward and past her with a gust of booze that didn’t surprise her at all. She got what she wanted: he was there and relatively intact. She wasn’t going to question how it came about.

She closed the door and latched it, and within seconds of that she felt the heat of him behind her pressing just enough to let her know it wasn’t accidental contact. She froze. After a moment of pointed nothingness, one of his hands skimmed around her hip and over her abdomen, the pads of his fingers settling lightly on her skin under her shirt. Then she felt his breath heat through the tangles of her hair. He nuzzled gently until his cheek met the side of her neck, and then his lips found her skin, warmed it and brushed it so lightly that it caused her to flush all over just from the tease of it. But still she didn’t move a muscle. He was asking a silent question - one that she knew she should refuse for both of their sakes. If she did, she knew he’d leave without a word. So, it was all up to her, and she sorta hated him for a split second that he was putting all of this on her when it really should’ve been up to _them_. But then she remembered the day they’d just been through, and the challenge of him, and the way that she was confused over him like she’d never been confused in her whole life.

She placed her palms flat against the closed door and pushed back into him and _Jesus_ , he was already hard. A moan escaped her then and she didn’t try to hide it. His lips brushed her neck again - it felt like he was speaking but there was no air to make the words real - and then he scored her with his teeth before taking a slow, luxuriant suck that was absolutely going to leave a mark.

“Okay… okay…” Her breath stuttered out of her and she wiggled a little closer. He moaned against her neck, sucking harder, and the fingers at her abdomen danced under the hem of her boxers and started circling lower. They slid against her accidentally and his lips pulled away from her neck with a surprised ‘oh’ sound. She was embarrassingly turned on already and there was no way to hide it. Her head dipped and rested against the door as she felt her blush deepen. Thank god it was dark in there. She arched her back and forced her ass into him, rubbing experimentally along his tailored pants, and his ‘oh’ turned into a rumbled growl in his chest that lit her up instantly, ready to go.

“Why am I still dressed?” she hissed and rubbed him again to make her point clear. “I’m barely wearing anything…”

And then she was whirled, his hands digging into her hips and pushing her back into the door as he stared into her gaze with incendiary, undisguised want. She may have yelped a little at the sudden turn, but then he was kneeling down before her, his fingers roughly tugging the briefs down her legs and then skimming back up her calves as he placed a heated kiss low on her belly. He growled again - she wondered if he knew he was doing it - and it vibrated through her with terrible clarity, like a bell that had never been rung before. She moaned and knocked the back of her head softly against the door, and then her body energized without her permission as she wrenched her shirt over her head and flung it into the darkness of the hallway. He looked up at her from his knees, the want now mixed with a bizarre sort of thankful adoration that she didn’t know how to interpret. She watched him fighting to control his breath and the strained tension that lined every inch of him, and then she thought about his anger both earlier in the day and over the months of his mother’s illness. He was there for all the wrong reasons, she was sure of it. But she loved him and she wouldn’t turn him away. She wasn’t sure if her intentions were as expansive and generous as J.J. had suggested they were, but she’d give him this comfort. She’d take him out of himself for a while and try not to regret it later. If it was also secretly what she wanted as well, no one had to know that.

“Spencer…” she whispered and sunk her fingers into his hair. His eyes slid shut for an instant and she felt him shiver against her legs before he pressed his face into the crook of her thigh and left a slow, wet kiss on it. Then his tongue was moving, circling across her in a steady, determined path as he headed for the center of her. His fingers dug into her hips as she wriggled, knowing exactly where he was going and trying to get him there faster than he wanted. He licked away her wetness when he got there, teasing her with flicks along her edges that left her buzzing and far too sensitive. One hand left her hip and gripped her inner thigh pressing it wide so he could shuffle closer. She stared down her body at him as he curled into an exaggerated S between her legs and then canted his neck to a crazy angle to get more of her. And then his tongue was inside her, too thin too insufficient to really give her what she wanted, but the greedy lapping sound of his lips and the soft moans he made when he caught his breath and then dove deep again drove her out of her mind. She found herself pushing down on him, catching him by surprise at first so that he had to struggle and pin her hips painfully back against the door so that she wouldn’t choke him. And then she couldn’t move and he couldn’t get any more of her and her brain was bubbling and frothing as her consciousness boiled over…

“Fuck… Spence, stop!” she grated and felt his mouth tear away from her. She looked down and saw him frozen staring back at her, probably terrified that he’d somehow misread her permission. “I’m not fucking your tongue against a hotel room door,” she wheezed and then grabbed his tie and tugged it hard. “Take me to bed right now. Do this right.”

He seemed paralyzed for a moment, and then physically shook himself, rose to his feet and nodded. She tugged his tie hard again until he stumbled against her and she sucked his tongue in roughly, moaning gently at the taste of her there mixed with bourbon. He gave her a moment to do what she wanted and then he was attacking her mouth, moving in hard sweeps that burned from the faintest hint of his five o’clock shadow. His kiss was cruel by his hands in her hair were soft and reverent, and the combination seemed to sum up everything she found attractive about him in an instant.

“C’mon,” she broke away from his lips and dragged him to her bed by his tie. He followed obediently, his hands all over her skimming her back, her sides, her hips, her ass… 

She stood at the edge of the bed and faced him as he shuffled out of his suit jacket and toed off his shoes awkwardly. He was still staring at her, as if he couldn’t look away, and that melted something hard inside her. She gasped, suddenly feeling that this night would ruin her somehow, and her stomach lurched as a primal part of her whispered that she should run and save herself. But instead she reached out and undid his tie, unbuckled his belt… She felt like saying _“This is going to hurt…”_ but she thought part of him understood that already. And then she considered telling him she loved him, because she was pretty sure he _didn’t_ understand that, but she thought it might mess him up further. 

“What do you want tonight?” It burst out of her unbidden and she had no idea what she expected his answer to be. He went still for a minute, just staring at her in the gloom, and then his hands rose slowly landing lightly on either side of her face and holding her like she were beyond price. Then he nodded ever so slightly, so minute that she might have missed it, and his answer brushed against her lips without sound: _You._ And as her heart strained against her ribs and his lips gently took hers, she knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t recover from this.

He broke the kiss and then pushed her back until she got the idea and flopped down onto the bed, then he was between her legs again, thin hands draping her calves over his shoulders as he crouched and picked up exactly where he’d left off. She rolled her head into the mattress with a whimper arching her back and biting off the deep moan that threatened to rip out of her. He licked deep, hard, over and over and over until the rhythm of his jaw and the tight clutch of his fingers turned into a painful, unsatisfying tide. She breathed unsteadily, fingers curling into the sheets with soft scrapes that sounded huge in the darkened room. Wriggling, she tried to push back towards him but he groaned warningly into her core and his nails bit into the tender skin of her hips to stop her. The sound lit her up and sent a renewed flush through her that he responded to with a delighted rumble. But it wasn’t enough - she needed so much more of him…

“Spence, more… please… I c-can’t…” she gasped and strained.

Then his mouth was gone and an instant later he unceremoniously pushed two long fingers into her right up to the knuckle. She cried out when it happened, going from soft wet teases to a hard invasion without warning. And then he curled those fingers and she arched her back sharply, mouth wide in a soundless howl, and her own hand scrabbling between them to clasp his wrist and keep him from pulling out.

“God _damn_ son of a bitch,” she yelled and felt him struggling to pull away as if he’d made a mistake. Her broken nails bit into his skin, making him yelp, as she hauled him as close to her as she could manage. She ground down onto those fingers until they hurt, still nowhere near the fulfillment she craved, but the jabbing discomfort pushing her higher nonetheless. She heard him breathing roughly, in confused bursts as she used him like a toy rather than a man. A passing instant of rational thought told her to _say something._

“Fuck you, Spencer…” It came out strangled and desperate as she keened into the sheets and his hand. “Fuck you… need _more_.”

For a moment, there was nothing but her heaving and the crisp cinching of the sheets as she struggled, and then his wrist ripped from her grip hard enough that she was sure she drew blood. Then he filled her, maybe just another finger, maybe his whole hand, but he pushed against her edges hard and she felt bruised and violated and so deliriously horny that she knew she wouldn’t let him stop for any reason. 

“Oh Christ, fuck _yes!_ ” she yelled and it was loud enough to echo in the room. “Don’t stop… want it… want it hard this time…”

Hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to vividly remind her of the mistake she’d made, hard enough to know she’d never forget this after he was gone.

He throbbed into her so forcefully that she was shifting bodily against the bed. Her core ached and her skin felt stretched too thin. There was a new wetness now making it harder to get the friction she craved, and she thought it was probably a little bloody as well. She didn’t care. Somehow, all of that seemed absolutely perfect. 

He hissed noticeably above her frantic gasping and for the first time she glanced down her writhing body to look at him. He was hunched, dark and sharp in his black dress shirt, one sleeve pulled back and working her so hard that the muscles corded obviously even in the dimness. His face was pressed into her abdomen - she could feel his urgent breaths across her belly - and his tangles draped over her pale skin shifting and tickling as they both struggled. His other hand clamped around her hip bone, white and pinched, as if nothing could convince him to let her go. One of her hands freed itself from the knot of sheets and carded into his hair causing him to twitch and then crane his gaze up to look at her. His mouth open, breathing harshly, and his whole body still dedicated to pushing her to the edge, she found his eyes to be completely different. He looked on her with unrestrained, open worship; his gaze soft and warm and grateful, and utterly, wholly _Spencer Reid._

Her heart, already hammering too fast, stopped dead at that expression for a terrifying moment and then thudded to life again. It hurt like hell - made a searing line of pain behind her ribs - and then, in the way only an overstimulated nervous system could, it mixed with her arousal and burst without warning, making her arch off the mattress with a hurtful cry and a wave of exhaustive relief that confused her so totally she sagged back and felt tears rolling down her face. She was vaguely aware that he’d stopped moving - the fullness of him was gone from her - and then she felt pressure along her torso, buttons and seams and cotton edges pressing into her as she opened her eyes and found him staring at her in worry.

“Em…” he stuttered damply, but nothing else came.

She reached up and curled a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down into her sniffling mess before he could object. She kissed him until she was lightheaded, and then she only broke away for a gasp before dragging him close again. The second time, he didn’t fight her, melting into her desperation with longing she could feel leaking out of him.

“Take off your clothes,” she gasped when they broke apart. “Have me anyway you want now. Just _have me._ ”

He made an odd sound deep in his throat that she thought might be hesitation or doubt. Her hand around his neck curled tighter.

“Spencer…” His name came out far more wrecked than she was comfortable with. “Let me give this to you…”

“You don’t owe me anything, Emily,” he whispered and it was the first time she heard how slurred and broken he was.

“Then do it because you want to. Do it because you want me and for no other reason.” She took a shaky breath in. “I let you in because I wanted to. I want you simply because _I. want. you._ ”

He pulled back a little, staring at her in the dark, and in that moment she wasn’t sure what decision he would make. Then he sat up and shuffled back off the bed and she rose up with a wince and watched him. He held her gaze and skimmed the front of his shirt until it parted and he rolled it off his shoulders to the floor. Then he shucked his pants, hopping around a little comically to toss off his socks and briefs. And then he just stood before her, sharp asymmetrical body silhouetted in the dark, waiting. Her heart hammered stupidly, making her feel immovable and sluggish, but then she summoned the will to hold out a hand to him, palm up. He reached back for her, long fingers slowly wrapping around hers as he kneed his way onto the bed and settled between her legs. He just sat there for a while, fingers curling and lacing through hers like a meditation, and she let him. It felt like… something. A conversation, maybe, and even though she wasn’t sure of the language, she was pretty sure it needed to happen. Then he let go of her hand, leaned forward and arched over her so that she had to lie back onto the mattress to keep him in focus. He loomed over her, knees between her thighs but no other part of him touching her. One hand braced his weight beside her head, and then the other slowly skimmed a line from her temple, along her face, down her neck and between her breasts. She let out a long, low sigh as it traveled.

She watched him carefully as he watched her. His eyes were huge, fascinated by every small reaction she made. His mouth hung open as if he’d forgotten to hide his surprise from her. As his finger circled her belly button, he lowered his mouth to her breast and breathed her in for a halting moment. Then his lips closed over her and sucked her gently. She murmured her appreciation and felt his mouth smile against her skin. He continued sucking her tenderly for a while, pads of his fingers tickling the soft arch of her breasts in a way that she found wholly addictive. Then he switched to the other side. She smiled at his need for symmetry. 

They went on like that for a while - soft explorations and contented sighs - and she forgot to hurry or the intensity that threatened to break them. Then his hand ghosted down to her inner thigh and nudged her wider. She took a deep breath in and held it as he lowered his body to press into hers for the first time. He crushed her chest, wedged between her legs, sank into the cradle of her hips, and his face pressed into her neck with a staggered huff. He lay there against her, warming her skin, their pulses syncing and then stumbling apart as if trying to figure one another out. Then he kissed her neck and pushed up on one hand so that she could breathe again, and he held her gaze.

“Okay,” he whispered, and then he shuffled his hips so that she felt his cock, slick and solid, brushing her sore center. Then, while he watched her eyes, he pushed firmly and deeply into her, his mouth partly slightly to pant and to let a tiny ‘ah’ escape. She whimpered too, because she already hurt, and his eyes bore into hers looking for hesitation or refusal. She reached out and grabbed his hips pulling him flush against her as his gaze widened in surprise.

“Have me,” she repeated softly, and his eyes slipped shut as he groaned deep in his chest.

He set up a rhythm, soothing and tidal at first, but quickly becoming urgent as he started gasping into her neck. She felt bruised all over and every thrust was a mix of ache and a desperate tickle of need; she found herself moaning into his skin almost constantly - one long tonal narration of how much she wanted to give. He grumbled a little, his knees suddenly spreading her wider and making her gasp from the soreness. His lips moved against her throat followed by his teeth. She imagined that it was an apology but one that quickly fell victim to the demands of his body. She wrapped her arms tightly across his back and pulled him close enough to make her breathing difficult. Turning her head, her mouth found his ear and licked it. He twitched a little, throwing his rhythm off and meeping a tiny bit.

“C’mon, Spence,” she whispered lowly. “I want to feel you come apart. I’ve wanted it every day since Houston.”

His whole body jolted at that, as if she’s punched him, and he reared his head back to look at her, his expression shocked and hopelessly aroused. She nodded once, slowly, so he’d have no doubt about it. And then he dipped in and took her mouth so hungrily that he stopped moving inside her and focused entirely on the kiss instead. Her mind swam a little under the intensity of him, and, against all odds, her tender body responded with a dull throbbing and wetness that made her wonder if he was a little bit magic. He groaned into her mouth, curling his tongue around hers and gasping desperately as if he couldn’t make up his mind between breathing and kissing. He started moving again and she braced herself but found it was easier now, and that produced another deep rumble from him.

“How can you be…” he huffed into her lips. “God… so wet…”

She whimpered his name and stretched under him, arching her back slightly and giving him a new angle. He moaned and throbbed into her hard as she hissed, but then he did it again and again. She grabbed his ass and encouraged his pace, urging him deeper even as she tried to shy away from the assault. One of his arms scrabbled between her back and the mattress as he drew her against him roughly. His other hand braced into the mattress to keep him from crushing her, but his head dipped low between his shoulders and his hips rolled making his back arch crazily, and he wobbled to keep everything together and moving forward. She wondered if she should just pull him down into her, risk the full weight of him if it helped him come, but then his pace changed again and she realized it was too late. 

He threw his head back, hair flopping out of his face to reveal his closed eyes, the strained expression and the way he was biting his lip. His hips jabbed into her mercilessly and though she was aroused, it still hurt and she could no longer stop herself making that known. He gritted out a half-hearted apology that she growled away and then his voice just repeated her name over and over as he dove into her. Every time he said it, it seemed a little bit _more_ , folding back on itself and threading through the iterations until it became dense and complicated and indescribably beautiful. And then she realized that she was clinging to him, shaking with a second climax that was nowhere close to the first but still made her mindless and raw all over. And she was chanting back to him, but it was far more basic and unambiguous.

“I love you. I love you… love you, _loveloveloveloveyou_ ” She couldn’t make herself stop.

He throbbed into her hard and his breath caught and scraped from him painfully as he froze in a contracted tableaux. Then his voice returned to him and he cried out the first syllable of her name - harsh and wet - and she felt him pulse against all of her that was swollen and tight. He pushed deep, ignoring her whimper, clutching her close as he poured into her. His hips worked her absently, his whole body on autopilot as he became an animal for a brilliant moment, and then he sucked in a huge breath as his muscles gave up on him in unison. 

He tried to flop to the side of her and almost made it. She shuffled to make their landing more comfortable and whined a little when he slid out of her; happy at the relief, but already missing the pull of him. They lay together staring at the hotel ceiling and breathing harshly in the darkness. In time his arm under her back shifted and she felt his fingers circle into her skin gently. She rolled towards him and he rolled to face her. They stared at each other in silence for what seemed like forever. She watched as something in his eyes changed; something flickered and dimmed, and another, unreadable emotion took its place instead.

“Stay tonight.” It blurted out of her, an echo of their night in Houston, but his mouth curled down and he shook his head, no. She propped herself up on an elbow and tried to hide how that wordless refusal unleashed an ungovernable panic deep inside her. _Here it comes - you knew this was a mistake…_ “Why not?”

He didn’t answer, just rolling away with a deep sigh and hiding his face from her. After a moment he got up from the bed and began collecting his clothes. She resisted the impulse to charge after him and rip his clothes from his hands.

“Why not?” she asked again, fighting to sound rational.

He slipped on his socks and shuffled back into his pants, zipping up and turning away from her while stuffing his briefs in his pocket. “I can’t.”

“What does that mean? Where else do you have to be right now?”

He slid on his dress shirt, doing up four buttons and then layering his suit jacket over it. She didn’t think it possible that someone could dress so quickly. What had happened in the last sixty seconds that made him want to flee so badly?

“Spencer, talk to me,” she demanded, wrapping the bed sheet around her because she suddenly felt that her nudity offended him. “I’m not some random woman you picked up… don’t treat me that way.”

He turned to face her and his expression was bland, unreadable. “I can’t stay because I don’t want to,” he murmured and then ducked his eyes as he crammed his feet into his shoes.

Prentiss blinked away the sting of that and clutched the sheet closer. “Okay, fine,” she muttered. “But there’s no need to be rude about it.”

He looked at her again and his face was still a mask, but there was a crease between his eyebrows and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard enough to see. “Yes, umm… of course. I… I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I-I had a lovely time.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake…” she growled and rolled her eyes at him. Then she hopped out of the bed and walked away from him towards the front door. She heard him follow her, his tread halting on the thin carpet. She waited until she heard him stop and then she unlatched the door with her free hand and swung it open. Then she turned back with her glibness firmly in place, held the bed sheet close, and gestured towards the lit corridor. “Off you go, then.”

He stared at her, shirt half buttoned and hair in a terrible tangle, his expression blank and his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“This is what you wanted, right?” she frowned.

“I… I didn’t…” he stumbled, smudges of pink highlighting his cheeks in the light from the corridor. 

“Didn’t, what?”

“I didn’t mean to… offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” she lied. “I’m a grown woman. Stuff like this happens. Been through it before.”

Reid visibly twitched and then flicked his eyes away from her. It felt cruel that she hoped she’d hurt him a little with that.

“It’s fine, Reid,” she sighed and sagged. “We’ll both get over it.”

His eyes snapped back to hers and he was angry, lips drawn tight, but also with a strange glassiness to his gaze. He watched her for a pointed moment and then nodded once. He shoved his hands in his pockets and loped out into the corridor. She kept her façade perfect as she watched him go - there was no hint that her heart was thrashing around in her chest like a trapped, dying bird. She was about to close the door when he stopped, stared at his shoes, and then sighed out a wet breath. Then he turned back and reached her in two strides, his lips skimming hers and one hand cupping her face with the barest of touches. He held her close for a second - they could hear each other breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then pulled away without looking at her and walked down the hall.

She stood frozen in the entryway, one hand holding the sheet up and the other on the doorknob but not the slightest idea what to do next. A minute passed in muted silence as the corridor light was the only witness to her confusion. Then, perversely, a trail of wetness crept down her inner thigh and brought the whole situation crashing back into focus. She slammed the door shut in a way that probably woke her neighbors, and then she slouched back against it and thumped her head dully. Another drip inched its way down her thigh and it matched the tears on her face. She cinched the sheet until it pinched her breasts and she let out a wet moan.

“Fuck,” she muttered.


	4. Fracture

Prentiss and J.J. went back to D.C. and Reid took two weeks to collect himself during which he spoke to absolutely no one. Prentiss hadn’t talked with him, texted or called after their night together and she had a sinking feeling about that. She knew what was coming but didn’t want to admit it yet. She was just holding still in the quicksand knowing that thrashing around and making a fuss would only hasten her end. She waited for his return, hoping that she had spectacularly misjudged the situation, and that somehow things would be right again between them.

But she wasn’t that unintuitive or that lucky.

He came back to work and he was someone she didn’t recognize at all. He _looked_ like Spencer Reid - same hair, same tennis shoes, same disturbing taste in skinny ties - but he was bent and sharp all over, smoldering with indiscriminant rage that you could see from a distance. He was short and reserved with everyone, barely speaking outside the bounds of a case and then cutting anyone down who tried for levity or to ease him with something personal. During a somewhat forgettable case in rural Virginia, J.J. interrupted one of his data analysis jags with a cup of coffee. He visibly twitched when he caught sight of her from the corner of his eye and then snapped loudly that she shouldn’t sneak up on him. J.J. just stood blinking for a moment, mug half held out to him and cheeks pinking up as the cops around them stopped and watched the scene.

“Sorry,” she mumbled eventually as he continued to scowl. “I thought you could use some fresh coffee.”

“What I could really use is the freedom to work undisturbed,” he stated flatly and then turned back to his heaps of folders. “If I’d wanted coffee, I’d have gotten coffee.”

“Fine,” J.J. said and then turned away with a bland expression that Prentiss knew too well as her covering up something meaningful.

When Prentiss approached J.J. later and asked her what was wrong she cheerfully denied everything, and Prentiss quietly sighed realizing that she now had _two problems_ to deal with thanks to Reid.

“Has he talked to you about Vegas yet?” Prentiss murmured, trying to keep their conversation private in the open squad room.

“No.” J.J.’s fake smile dimmed.

“Have you tried bringing it up?”

“Of course I’ve tried,” she snapped, her mask slipping, and then sighed. “Sorry, Emily.”

“S’okay. I get it.” She really did.

“He just… he doesn’t even come over for dinner anymore. Henry keeps asking why he’s not there, and I don’t know what to say.” J.J.’s shoulders slumped and Prentiss suddenly thought _‘she doesn’t deserve this - maybe I do, but she doesn’t’_. “I knew that losing Diana would be hard for him, but I honestly didn’t think it would make all of this _worse._ It’s like… he’s angry that we care.”

“He’s angry that we care and he thinks he doesn’t. He probably feels like we’re condemning him for all of this.”

“Idiot,” J.J. spat back, more in anxiety and frustration than actual menace. “How can he not understand that you only get that angry when all you’re doing _is feeling_? It’ll only feel worse if he’s alone in it.”

“Yeah,” Prentiss sighed, looking across the squad room at Reid’s back and seeing a path lying before her that would inexorably lead to confronting and battling him for the sake of the team, and probably losing the part of ‘them’ that she valued so deeply. She couldn’t face it in that moment because she was a coward, but the time was coming…

A team dinner came and went. He blew it off without offering an excuse or telling anyone that he wouldn’t be there. Rossi announced his plans to retire, and Reid stomped out of the conference room afterwards without saying anything as everyone else wiped away tears and congratulated him. Even Dave, usually a bulwark in Reid’s emotional storms, seemed hurt by the dismissal. Prentiss quietly followed him to his desk afterwards, looking around to see if there was any hope in hell that their conversation would stay private.

“What was that?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral. Reid’s shoulders hunched at the sound of her voice.

“What was what?”

“Just now in the conference room. You couldn’t manage a _single thing to say_ to Dave? This is pretty big news for him.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still turned away from her and shuffling things on his desk. “I didn’t realize participation was mandatory.”

“Reid,” she said more firmly and waited for him to face her. His expression was wan and disinterested, like a sullen teenager. “Dave is a friend and he’s leaving. I get that this might be hard to deal with in light of everything recently, but you can’t-”

“You don’t get anything about me, Prentiss,” he snapped and stepped toward her so she’d be forced to look up at him. At this distance she could see the minute redness in the corners of his eyes, she smelled the vague antiseptic tang that his aftershave couldn’t quite cover up, she spied the small cut on his face where his hand had slipped while shaving that morning, and a few others that where already healing. “Stop wasting your time trying to stick your nose where it’s not wanted.”

“I’d be happy to,” she said quietly and stepped into _him_. “If you’d stop acting like a selfish adolescent. If you can’t be bothered to put forth a modicum of decency at work - towards _your friends_ who’ve never done anything but be considerate of you - then go home. I can’t use you here.”

“Can’t use me…” he smirked knowingly and she’d never wanted to slap him more in her life.

“Get out of here, Reid, before you make J.J. any more miserable or disappoint Rossi again.” She whispered it but thread it through with enough venom to make her displeasure clear. At the mention of J.J. and Rossi his expression changed from insolence to shocked worry that instantly reminded her of the old him. But then it was gone, shoved under a mask of fatigue and averted eyes. He didn’t say a word, just loading things into his messenger bag instead. She watched him pack and then waited to see his face again. “And when you come back,” she added quietly. “Be sober.”

His eyes widened but he clamped his mouth shut tightly and brushed past her without an apology or a goodbye. She didn’t watch him go; she was too busy using everything she had to appear professional and not heartsick. No matter how much of an ass he was being, his pain was still real to her.

_Fuck you, Spence. Fuck you, and your determination to be alone, and all the things you asked me to feel and then ripped away without any warning…_

Things got a little better after that, for everyone else at least. Whether her words made a dent or his own exhaustion at his misery were the cause of it, she wasn’t certain. But he made an effort. He apologized to J.J. and he bought Rossi a retirement gift that he offered with the look of a kicked puppy. He still kept to himself, still deflected all concerns about himself, but he stopped obviously lashing out at everyone. 

Everyone but her. 

He spoke over her in meetings, rode her profile theories too hard in front of the team and LEOs, he’d remove himself from wherever she was unless it was absolutely necessary, and he never, ever smiled. He handed in his reports on time but did the bare minimum for them, he bordered on late for _everything_ testing her patience, and despite her warning, she still caught the scent of booze on him more often than not. The general feeling around the bullpen was that he was making progress - slow, but forward nonetheless - and since he wasn’t actively battling everyone, people learned to live with the uncomfortable awkwardness he sometimes brought with him. It was just easier to go along with it than not.

He started going to J.J.’s house again for meals and visits with the boys. J.J.’s relief was measured, but obvious. She caught up with Prentiss in the staff kitchen on a Monday morning, smiling brightly and perhaps choosing to ignore Prentiss’s lackluster demeanor. She chatted happily about her sons for a few minutes before going quiet and stirring her coffee in a too-determined way.

“Reid came for dinner on Saturday night,” she mentioned without looking up.

“Oh? How did that go?” Prentiss used her ‘best friend’ voice even though that was no longer true.

J.J. contemplated her mug for a moment. “He’s still drinking too much.”

Prentiss sighed. She didn’t know how to fix that. She didn’t know how to fix _him._ She didn’t even know how to get him to like her again.

“I thought he was getting better,” J.J. continued quietly, and it broke Prentiss a little. “But he doesn’t talk to me anymore. Not about anything important anyway. He just stops - tunes out. Everything about him has just _stopped._ ”

She looked up at Prentiss suddenly and she was close to tears. “I don’t know how to help him, Emily.”

Prentiss put her mug aside and pulled her friend in close, burying her anxiety into wavy blonde hair. “I don’t know what to do either,” she murmured to keep the wetness in her voice hidden. “But eventually, everyone moves past this… visceral grief, don’t they? He’ll come back to us then. It probably can’t get much worse than it is now.”

But it did, for her.

He showed up one day looking more exhausted than usual, and with an obvious love bite on his neck that could’ve been easily disguised by doing up his collar. But he didn’t do that, brazenly daring anyone to comment on it. Prentiss locked down her expressions so tightly that she imagined you could hear her face creak when she moved, but she did nothing, responded with _nothing._ It was three months to the day since Vegas and it felt as if he was actively rubbing the distance and resentment between them in her face.

J.J. sauntered over to her after a briefing as Reid shuffled back to his desk, and murmured, “He’s seeing someone?”

Prentiss tapped her case folders into a neat row against the conference room table. “I don’t know,” she mumbled truthfully.

“Christ,” J.J. groaned. “We have to do something, Emily. This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Prentiss turned on her friend, tired beyond all measure of tiptoeing around Spencer fucking Reid’s problems. “And what exactly do you think we should do, Jen? He’s a grown man. He can thrash around in his own mess if he wants to. He’s made no effort to suggest that he wants anything else.”

_He’s made no effort to say he wants **me** anymore. The goddamned hickey makes that pretty fucking clear._

J.J. gave her a veiled critical stare. “If you can live with that…” she said eventually, and then walked slowly back to her office.

Prentiss watched her leave and then sank down into a chair behind the conference table. “I hate this fucking job,” she mumbled to herself.

She waited a reasonable amount of time and then quietly retreated to the washroom. Prentiss was never the sort of woman who bawled over the vicissitudes of men; she’d been hurt plenty in the past and built up a skin about it that she was quietly proud of. But the sight of Reid’s hollow gaze, the cruel nothingness to his expression when he _knew_ she noticed his details, ripped bloody chunks of her away. She found herself clutching the edge of a sink and struggling to swallow back wet gasps, eyes pinched and stinging as she brutally repeated _Fuck You_ inside her head. 

_Fuck you. Fuck your boney ass. Fuck your pain and the way you want to give it away like it’s goddamned Christmas. Fuck my stupid, soft heart. And FUCK YOU because I’m not crying over this - not a single damned tear for you because you’ve turned out to be like every other idiot who’s ever disappointed me…_

She fixed her make-up, locked the love she had for him in a box and shoved it into a dusty corner of her mind, and then went back to her office. It was time to get on with things.

The morning he showed up an hour late, snapping and sloppily smelling of alcohol, she decided that she couldn’t ignore things any longer. The day waned and she figured that he was deep into an impressive hangover when she stood outside her office overlooking the bullpen and called his name. He looked up at her with mild irritation that bordered on insubordination and she bit back the urge to tell him to smarten up right there in front of the entire department.

_Fuck You. We’re done. You win._

Instead, she said, “May I see you in my office?”

“Now?” he winced.

“Yes.”

He shuffled into the room and stood sullenly just inside the doorframe.

“Close the door, would you?” she waved in his direction without looking at him. Unlike Hotch, she always had the blinds drawn for a measure of privacy, and she was glad of it now as she anticipated a scene with him. She heard the door click, and finished reading the report in her hand just to make him wait, and then she sunk down into her desk chair and looked at him in a way she hoped a boss would.

“This has got to stop,” she said simply.

“What has to stop?”

“Don’t do that,” she raised a warning finger. “Don’t act like you’ve successfully fooled us all. It’s insulting.”

His eyes narrowed. “What I do on my own time, or whom I do it with, is my own business.”

She let that one bounce off her. It was so obvious and clumsy it wasn’t worth the effort to react to. Instead, she peered at his arms. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows but she saw no fresh marks. She took a private breath of relief at that because, at this point, she had no idea what he’d do next in his campaign of self-destruction.

“I’m not using,” he snapped.

“You can’t blame me for wondering,” she shot back. “At best, your behavior has been… erratic. And, honestly, drinking isn’t all that much better than opiates, Reid.”

“You need to stop presuming you know me, Prentiss,” he seethed. “Just because we screwed a few ti-”

Prentiss slapped her hand down on her desk hard enough to make a sharp crack that lit painfully up her arm. Then she fixed him with a glare that asked him who the hell he thought he was fooling with. _Fuck you, if you don’t want me to care, but you’ll respect my authority if nothing else._ “Watch your damned mouth, Spencer. We’re at work - this is a professional dialog. You need to stop presuming as well.”

His glare remained but his mouth clamped shut and his cheeks reddened while she watched. She took a breath to calm her pulse.

“Everyone’s concerned, as we’ve always been.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Listen, you’ve made it painfully clear that you don’t want us to care about you, so I’ll abide by your wishes. I can’t speak for the others. If you don’t want any of us in your business, fine. That’s your play to make.” She sighed, half exhausted with him and half hoping that he’d finally see the light. “But your work is suffering and I can’t have that. I’ve got a team to run and this… melodrama is getting in the way of that. You don’t want our help - okay - but that means that you don’t get special treatment either. You can’t have it both ways, Reid. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point to let you sabotage it simply because you can’t make up your mind about how to feel.”

His eyebrows lowered menacingly and his back straightened as if she’d slapped him.

“You’re often late, you’re moody, your reports are all over the place,” she sat back with a huff and couldn’t stop herself from taking a jab at him. “And your appearance is… well, a mess, quite frankly.” She nodded towards his rumpled shirt collar and perhaps the fading bruise just beneath it. His expression changed to something that looked hurt. And then vindictive.

“Professional dialog, huh?” he said quietly, lifting his eyebrows in innocence. “Sounds a little bit like jealousy.”

“The personal pain you’ve caused me is irrelevant right now,” she said too quietly, and watched as his sullenness morphed into shock instead. “In this moment I’m your boss, Reid, and I’m telling you that your grief is effecting your work. You either clean up your act and come here each day prepared to focus and make an appreciable contribution, or you take a leave of absence to consider your alternatives. Those are your options. I’ve let this slide for as long as I can, and I did that out of affection, but since that’s no longer required, we have to get a handle on this.”

Reid’s eyes went wide and he swallowed hard before quietly stammering, “O-okay. Message received.”

She stared at him for a full minute while he twitched, waiting for his decision. When it became clear he wasn’t going to answer, she sighed, “What’s it gonna be, Reid?”

“I-I need time to think about that.” He shuffled back and forth.

Well, she guessed she owed him that. This was his career he was considering, after all. “Okay, but I’ll need an answer one way or the other by the end of the week. Deal?”

He nodded and then turned to leave. She felt like something someone had scraped off their shoe as she watched him go. _It’s fine. You’re fine. You were always his boss - never forget that. Get this train back on the rails. That’s all that matters now._ Then he stopped and turned back, eyes flicking to her and then his shoes in an expression so familiar that it unconsciously lulled her into a softer place that she’d thought she’d locked away with her love.

“You know… you’re… you’re a good boss, Prentiss,” he gulped, not looking at her. “Fair like Hotch was. Caring. Keeping the team’s wellbeing foremost in your mind. I know you’ve worried about that. But you shouldn’t. Even right now… you’re giving me every chance.”

And now that soft place was muffling and suffocating her because she wasn’t prepared for him to slip back into his old skin and make her doubt the new, determined course she’d set herself on.

“I treat people based on what they’ve earned, Reid,” she said quietly, straining to remain professional. “You’ve earned your chances with me regardless of how… difficult things are right now.”

His eyes shot up to her then, his mouth pulled into a frown and his gaze unhappy. “May I address the personal for a moment?”

She swallowed and then nodded.

“If I decide to stay, I don’t want… what’s happened between us to get in the way of our working relationship.”

“Okay…” she said cautiously, not entirely sure she wanted to hear him put this into words.

He stood taller, straightened his shoulders, and looked single-minded. “What happened after Mom’s funeral was a mistake.”

She blinked and kept her expression neutral.

“Houston was a mistake,” he added. “These were _my_ mistakes. I was… very emotional. Uncharacteristically affected. I’m still… struggling with balance.”

His face got redder and his eyes kept flicking to her and away again.

“But I know something now that I didn’t know then.”

“What’s that?” she asked eventually, stomach already plummeting.

“I don’t want to be with you. Not the way I said I did. That was another mistake. Whatever I felt was because of what I was experiencing with Mom. I was terrified, angry, lonely… and I grasped for something that wasn’t really there. I’m still all of those things, but… there’s more awareness of how wrong being with you would be. We’ve been friends for a long time, Prentiss. I don’t want to throw that all away for a relationship that’s just a deflection for dealing with my loss.”

Her mask slipped a little and she flinched. He saw it and just watched as she shifted in her seat and leaned her chin against her hand. “Okay,” she husked. “That’s… fine.” 

“Is it?” he whispered. “It doesn’t look like it is. You said… you loved me.”

“I don’t have to feel good about it to accept your decision,” she said flatly. _Christ, just get out of my office so I can deal with this…_ “This isn’t all that shocking. You were pretty clear about how you felt when you left me in Vegas.”

His eyebrows lowered dangerously. “You asked me to leave.”

“After you told me you didn’t want to stay,” she snipped, and then shook her head and raised her hands up in surrender. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve expressed your preference…” 

She tried not to think about who’d left that mark on his neck and what they had to offer that she didn’t. Whoever she was, Prentiss hoped she comforted him, or at the very least, that he wanted to be with her. 

“And you’re not the first man to tell me he wasn’t interested. The focus here has to be the team, the work, and your friends. We want you back, Reid, regardless of what you think. We can forgive a lot, and we will if you give us half a chance. But it all starts with you - you have to decide how you want to move forward from this.”

He nodded glumly, eyes fixed on her. The stare was odd, wide and a little watery. If she didn’t know better she’d have thought he was upset at her for pushing him away - as if _she_ were rejecting _him._ She couldn’t keep looking at him - it was too hard. She couldn’t stop wondering if they’d ever find their way back to friendship, if he’d ever smile for her again. She suspected that she’d never be able to look upon him as just a friend. She wasn’t as generous as J.J. was with her love. So realistically that meant all they’d have after this was a professional regard for one another. And one day when one of them moved on, that would be gone as well. She turned her chair to the side and avoided his gaze.

“Go to J.J., Reid,” she said softly. “This is really doing a number on her. If you don’t want to talk or accept help… just _don’t_ keep hurting her like this. Okay?” She heard him gasp and she wondered how he could be unaware of how much his behavior was maiming those around him. He just didn’t fundamentally get that he was loved. “She loves you so much,” she added weakly.

_fuck you, spence_

There was a full minute of silence between them, hanging heavily over their heads with a ton of things they’d never say to one another. One of those things, Prentiss thought, was the word ‘goodbye’. She heard his feet scuff on the carpet but he didn’t leave. She wondered if he was waiting for permission.

“Is there anything else you want to discuss?” she said, staring out the window to the parking lot beyond.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured, but sounded unsure.

“Then go home,” she said gently and picked up a file from her pending stack to look through. “Come back when you’ve decided what you want to do.”

“Okay.” He moved towards the door as she flipped through the pages of her file not really seeing any of it. Then she heard him stop and clear his throat. “Thank you for this. For being… thoughtful about it, I mean.”

She refused to look at him afraid that his expression might break her. “It’s my job, Reid. And it’s what Hotch would’ve done. I have to live up to his standards.”

Reid didn’t say anything to that, and a moment later the door clicked open and then quietly shut as he left. Prentiss closed her eyes and held her breath until light colored motes floated against her eyelids. Then she let it burst out of her along with tears that she couldn’t seem to blink back. She tossed her file aside and leaned forward, her face sinking into her hands, trying to smear the wetness away quickly.

“Goddammit!” she gusted and hitched as her chest fought off a sob. “C’mon, Prentiss, pull yourself together! Just another man… another fucking guy in a long line of idiots who didn’t get you. Water on a wheel, honey. Let it go…”

“Let who go?”

Prentiss’s eyes shot up to her office door so quickly that she got lightheaded. J.J. stood halfway through the threshold looking confused, and then she saw Prentiss’s blotchy face and she shut the door, rushing forward with worry.

“What’s going on, Em? I saw Reid come in here and was hoping that he finally broke down and decided to talk to you… What _happened?_ ”

“Fuck,” Prentiss muttered and then sort of flipped off the universe at the unfairness of her day. “J.J., I don’t really want-”

“Did something happen between you and Spence?” J.J. whispered urgently kneeling next to Prentiss’s chair and clasping her hand before Prentiss could back away. “Because something seemed weird with you two back in Vegas, but it was such an emotional situation. I thought I was inventing things…”

Prentiss ruthlessly ran her free hand through her hair and then shrugged as if she couldn’t muster any more energy to be secretive about this any longer. “Yeah, something happened between us,” she sighed. “But it’s done. Nothing to see here.”

“Bullshit.” J.J.’s eyebrows lowered as she frowned. “You’re crying in your office-”

“Fuck you. I’m not crying,” she sniffled. “My eyeballs are perspiring.”

“Whatever,” J.J. muttered. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I went to see him in Houston.”

J.J.’s brows then tried to rocket off her forehead. Prentiss just shook her head in resignation.

“Honestly, I don’t know what it was. He seemed to want it in the beginning, but he also battled me on it almost the entire time. Things came to a head after Diana’s funeral and… well, it was hurtful. I’d hoped that it was just grief making him temporarily insane or something, but…”

“But he’s been lashing out at you ever since,” J.J. nodded gloomily. “Everyone’s noticed. He’s far more resentful of you than anyone else.”

Prentiss took a big breath in and fought back the new wave of tears that were blurring her view. _Screw that - there’s no crying at the FBI…_ “Anyway, he just told me he’s done with it. We had it out about his behavior and he agreed to shape up. But he’s not interested in anything personal. Says it was just about grief and he apologized for making a mistake with me.”

J.J. rocked back onto her heels and stared at Prentiss, blinking disbelievingly. “Did you two…?”

Prentiss rolled her eyes. “We’re two lonely adults. Of course we slept together, Jen.”

“Well then, I don’t understand…”

“What’s to understand, J.J.? I wanted to be with him and he said he wanted to be with me. Then he changed his mind. It’s not rocket science… it’s not even all that original.”

“No, I _get_ that. What I’m not understanding is that, well, Spence doesn’t randomly sleep around.”

“I think the fucking hickey on his neck disproves that theory…” Prentiss spat out.

“You mean, that wasn’t you?”

Prentiss shook her head, no, feeling small and useless. “He’s barely spoken to me since the funeral. Let alone… anything else.”

J.J. nodded and stared off into space for a moment. “Grief makes you do stupid shit.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No. No, that’s not what I meant, Emily.” J.J.’s gaze refocused with a look of apology. “I can buy that he’d go out and try to numb himself with a hook-up, or booze, or a shot of Dilaudid in the name of pain, but I don’t for a single second believe that he’d use you to achieve the same thing.”

Prentiss’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“It takes a lot of trust for him to let someone in. And he doesn’t just trust you as a friend, Emily, he let you into his mourning, into the whole mess with Diana. And then he let you in as a lover. He let you see his pain and his fragility - and you _know_ how he hates to look weak.”

J.J. shook her head again and then sat cross-legged on the carpet next to Prentiss’s chair.

“Nope, I don’t believe that he was with you out of some sort of temporary function of grief at all. If all he wanted was to lose himself, he could still be doing that with you.”

“No, he couldn’t. I’d call him on his crap.” Prentiss slid out of her office chair and sat next to J.J. on the carpet. It made her feel microscopically better - just two girls hiding from the world and sharing secrets.

“Exactly.” J.J. pointed a finger at her. “I think he’s pushing you away because you understand him. Because he doesn’t want you to witness him going through this and failing to negotiate it. It’s why he never asks for help - he doesn’t want people to think less of him. He’d rather break it off with you than fail in your eyes.”

“That’s… that’s fucking ridiculous,” Prentiss blinked, not really giving herself permission to think Reid’s actions were anything other than asshole douchebaggery.

“Fucking ridiculous is his middle name,” J.J. growled darkly. “My point here is that I don’t think he was casual about you. Whether that makes any difference or not down the road…”

“There is no ‘down the road’, Jen. He told me flat out that he doesn’t want a personal relationship. Period. At this point all we could agree to was professional respect.”

“But you…” J.J.’s expression went wide and pitying, and Prentiss couldn’t stand it.

“What do you want me to tell you? That I love him? Because I do. Of course I do. We were friends before all of this happened, and I loved him then. Absolutely.”

J.J. continued staring, waiting for more, and Prentiss slapped her hands against her folded thighs in exasperation. “Do you want to hear that I wanted this? Yep, I did. I surprised myself with that, but I did. Do you want me to admit that I’m a squirrely mess because Spencer Reid got under my armor and then dumped me on my ass when I least expected it? Well, hell, J.J., you just scored a hat trick, but it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference now because _I can’t change his mind about it._ ”

She took a stuttered breath in and then was overcome by a surge of defensive anger as tears prickled her eyes again. She had a distinct flash of the determined woman who’d been struggling and seeking for years, and finally made it to the place she wanted to be only to find that it was _lacking._

“And even if I could, screw him for doing this! Maybe I always knew this was a mistake, but he made it so much worse than it had to be. This fucking _hurts_ \- he doesn’t get let off the hook for that. He broke our friendship, and he very nearly cost me my professional dignity, and I’ve worked too hard for too long alongside a lot of shitheads who told me I’d never make it as the boss to let my _best fucking friend_ nearly make that true,” Prentiss spat and then tried to rein it all back in, tried to remember how much she cared. “I hope he recovers from this and I fervently want to see him happy, but I’m not throwing my goddamned life away to make that happen, J.J. No way. Not when it means nothing to him.”

Her cheeks were flaming, and she could feel the lines around her eyes and mouth pinching in anger as her traitorous tears skimmed down her face. But her voice stayed clear and if J.J.’s expression was any indication, her sentiment came across as deadly serious. Her friend blinked silently for a moment, and then leaned forward wrapping her in a hug that Prentiss didn’t have the strength to refuse. She sunk into J.J. and just shook quietly.

“Okay, Em, I get it. I do.” J.J.’s hands soothed across Prentiss’s back in slow ellipses.

“Don’t try and fix this, J.J.” Prentiss whispered after a while. “We broke it. We have to live with that. Promise me you won’t interfere.”

“I promise,” she said quietly and then pulled back to look Prentiss in the eye. “But I want to tell you a story. Will you let me do that?”

Prentiss nodded numbly because she didn’t have energy left to do anything else. She didn’t think she could even haul herself back into her office chair.

“Okay,” J.J. sighed and then sat up a little straighter. “I’ve never told anyone about this. Not even Will.”

 _Oh._ Prentiss knew what was coming. She’d just have to play along.

“Spence and I were together once when we were both junior agents in the Unit,” J.J. gusted out with what looked like great effort and relief. She waited for Prentiss to react.

“Like, _together_ together?”

J.J. nodded. “He was twenty-two and I was twenty-five. I’d only been on the job for a year and I was pretty intimidated by everyone else. And you know Spence, he was busy feeling inferior while also being the most impressive brain in the room…” She smiled fondly, and Prentiss wondered if she’d be able to do that again someday. “I really liked him right from the start. It probably helped that we were both insecure and gravitated to one another. I guess I sorta had a crush.”

“A crush?” That was news to Prentiss.

“Yeah. I knew he had one for me. Hell, everyone knew he had a thing for me… I was sorta flattered that I was even a blip on his radar.”

“Oh, J.J. …” Prentiss said quietly, remembering all too well how hard it was to believe in yourself when you were young and struggling through a man’s profession. J.J. waved her off.

“So, after what seemed like forever, he finally worked up the gumption to ask me out. He took me to a Redskins game - I don’t know what possessed him - and he cheered in all the wrong places and made a face while drinking flat beer. He was a trooper - it was adorable. I remember thinking that I could love him - like, _really_ love him if I gave myself the chance. But I also realized that he’d never really love me. Oh sure, he was all caught up in it then, but it wouldn’t last. Once he got a few more years under his belt, once he had some experience, I wouldn’t be enough for him.”

“Jen, that’s bu-”

“Let me finish,” she said gently. “That didn’t make me as sad as I thought it should. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t _in love_ yet - just contemplating it. But still, I wanted him in my life. I wanted to love him in a way. So I did something selfish. That night, after the game when he took me home, I asked him to stay. I told him I wanted to give him a unique memory - that I wanted to be his first. I convinced him I was doing him a favor, but what I was actually doing was ensuring that I’d always have a place in his heart. No matter who he became as he matured, no matter who he ended up loving, there would always be room for me because of _that night._ ”

J.J. hesitated, staring off into the middle distance over Prentiss’s shoulder. Perhaps staring into a memory of her and Reid. “I felt bad about it for a long time. Not the sex - I never regretted being with him - but I felt guilty about hiding my intentions the way I did. It felt… underhanded.”

Prentiss waited as she watched J.J. thread her fingers together until her knuckles turned white. “Do you still feel bad about it?”

“No,” J.J. smiled slowly. “At some point I realized that perhaps my motives weren’t unselfish, but that night led us to build such a fulfilling relationship that I don’t really care how it began. Now our relationship _is_ unselfish. I love Spencer deeply - not as an intimate, although that lies between us - but as a part of _me_ , like my sons are or the way Will is. I never could’ve anticipated that, and I certainly didn’t think that would happen when I took him to bed that night. I was just a kid myself. What did I know?”

Prentiss didn’t know how to respond.

“You see, I did something foolish. I made a mistake, but we turned it into something unbelievable. And neither one of us knew what we were doing at the time. I’m not sure that any of us really know what we’re doing when we make connections with people, no matter how old we get. Only time reveals if we did it right or not. So maybe, in time, this thing between you and Spence won’t seem so catastrophic. Maybe you’ll be able to get back to each other, maybe you’ll be stronger for it-”

Prentiss leaned away and was about to say something dismissive when J.J. reached out and caught her hand tightly.

“I’ll keep my promise: I won’t interfere. But, just consider the possibility of it, Emily. Consider my experience. Consider the way you and Spence have always gotten to each other, long before you were intimate. That’s rare. Rare the way Spence and I turned out to be. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you exist in your own category inside his mind.”

“J.J., I-I can’t…” Prentiss whispered.

She nodded. “You can’t _now_. But maybe next time…”

J.J. shrugged and then let it go. She pulled Prentiss in for another hug and Emily wished more than anything in her life that J.J.’s theory proved to be right.


	5. Repair

**One Year Later**

 

Prentiss checked her weapon again as she watched Reid remove his. He smoothed his hands over his Kevlar with a distracted scowl, and then looked up at her.

“You ready?” she asked quietly, flexing under her own vest to get used to how it restrained her movements. He stood to his full height and gave her a committed stare that eased her general anxiety more than she was willing to admit.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled and then seemed to notice something in her expression and inexplicably softened at it. “You know that I’ve done this before, right? Lots of times.”

“Not with me sending you in you haven’t,” she muttered as she headed for the door of the ATF van and out into the sunshine. She heard Reid follow behind her. Always following, ever since the day he stepped into her office and reaffirmed that he was going to stay with the Unit.

“You worried I’ll make you look bad?” His tone was a little too flippant to be appropriate. She turned back and saw him trying to hide the way one side of his mouth was curling upwards.

“I’m worried that I’ll end up with a dead nerd on my hands, and all of the condemning paperwork that would entail,” she deadpanned back, ignoring how his uncharacteristic confidence was calming her. She wondered if he was doing it purposefully.

They made it to the scene perimeter where the local cops were holding the press and the public back. Once they crossed the caution tape, it was just them, their wits, and a decompensating headcase holding a family hostage. Prentiss had never missed Hotch more in her life than she did in scenarios like these. She turned to look at Reid again and was relieved to see that he was staring at the house beyond the tape with a ferocious glare. It was his ‘beautiful-mind-on-overdrive’ glare. He was already inside, working through possible outcomes and sizing up the angles. She breathed a quiet sigh.

“Let’s do this,” she gritted and ducked under the tape with him.

“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, half-distracted by his thoughts. “You’ve got my back.”

“Always. But if you take off that vest for any reason, I’ll shoot you myself.” 

His gaze flicked back to her with shock and she gave him a tiny smirk before raising her weapon and breaking left to circle around to the back of the building. He walked right in through the front door, hands preemptively raised, wading into someone else’s hell with a poise he asserted in very few places. But she absolutely trusted him when he did.

Thirty minutes later, after she’d cuffed the unsub and handed him off, and Reid had pried himself free from three hysterical but completely unharmed children, she caught up with him at the police line watching the LEOs reunite the hostages with their worried relatives.

“Good work,” she said quietly, a hand patting him on the back before she could question it. He looked at her, a little lost, and she smiled to reassure him as much as herself. She hated putting any of them in danger, and she hated asking him more than the rest. That didn’t really surprise her but she thought she might have found a way around that anxiety by now. “You were right: talking him down was the way to go.”

Then his confusion evaporated and something weirdly smug replaced it. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rolled on the balls of his feet. “Right guy for the right job. A little faith, Prentiss. No one can talk crazy the way I can. Your tactical reputation was always safe. Now, if there had been running or tackling involved, or - heaven forbid - fence climbing, well…”

He shrugged and then gave her a shy smile that still did something to her. She rolled her eyes and shoved both him and his ridiculousness away from her gently. Some things never changed and it was comforting that he was acting like a goof at a crime scene, even if it wasn’t entirely professional. She dipped under the caution tape and walked backwards from him as he still stood there grinning like an idiot with FBI emblazoned across his chest.

“Alright, badass,” she nodded at him. “You can take the vest off now.” She headed towards one of the SUVs as he laughed behind her. She smiled to hear it.

\----

It was too early on a Monday morning right on the heels of a weekend that had blurred into a forgettable monotony of chores, laundry, and work catch-up for Prentiss. She sighed as she oozed into the staff kitchen for much-needed caffeine; in days gone by a similar feeling had always been preceded by a weekend of adventure or debauchery. She was getting old.

J.J. shuffled in a few minutes later with a cheerful hello and looking vaguely… sparkly? Prentiss squinted as her friend mixed her coffee.

“J.J., are you wearing… glitter?”

J.J. rolled her eyes and sighed exhaustively. “Yes, but it’s not my fault. It’s Spence’s.”

Prentiss waited for more and then raised her eyebrows. “That sorta raises more questions than it answers.”

“He came over on Saturday to hang out with Henry and they ended up playing at being wizards or Harry Potter or something. Even Will got roped into it. It was cute right up until the moment Spence built some sort of glitter canon…”

Prentiss guffawed and choked on her coffee. “Oh shit…”

“Yeah,” J.J. growled, unamused. “I spent all yesterday vacuuming but it’s absolutely everywhere. We may have to move.”

“And give the new owners a sparkly discount,” Prentiss added, wondering if Reid managed to mar both the inside and outside of J.J.’s house. “I’m sure he was sorry.”

“Of course he was, and in that way of his that precludes you from working up the fury to kill him, but that doesn’t mean when I turn out the lights that my living room doesn’t look like a bioluminescent forest scene from _Avatar_.”

Prentiss cackled at both the mental image as well as her friend’s mildly pissed off expression. She put her mug down to avoid sloshing coffee all over herself. Not very boss-like.

“Next time, send the boys to his place,” she chuckled.

“Oh, I do, quite often in fact. They spend equal time between our place and his apartment.”

Prentiss blinked. “He must be spending a lot of time with you guys.”

J.J. smiled for the first time. “He does. Sometimes Will and I have to physically kick him out. I don’t really mind though, and the boys love it. I guess he’s making up for all the time he lost being an isolated jerk.”

“I guess.” Prentiss thought about that.

“What about you?” J.J. said quietly after a moment. When Prentiss looked at her, her expression was cautiously concerned. “Do you two hang out at all? It seems like he’s finally becoming his old self again…”

“No,” Prentiss said, slurping her coffee and refusing to elaborate. J.J. watched her for another pointed minute and then sighed, collecting her coffee mug.

“He’s probably waiting to be asked-”

“No,” Prentiss repeated, this time more solidly. “We’re at a point where we can work together amicably. That was my goal and I’m pleased with the results.”

“Emily,” J.J.’s brow creased and she proceeded in a halting way that was unlike her. “He’s… regretful. We’ve talked about it a little - he’s never mentioned anything specifically, but… there’s remorse there that I know he’d like to address. Maybe if you reached out-”

“J.J., you promised,” Prentiss pointed quietly.

“Yes, I did. I know.”

“Then leave it alone. I’m his boss. This is the way it always should’ve been.”

“You were his _friend_ ,” J.J. mumbled almost too softly to be heard. “At the very least _that’s_ the way it always should’ve been.”

Prentiss slouched against the countertop and gave into the affection towards all of them that she kept tightly tied down these days. “Believe it or not, by enforcing these roles, I am being his friend.”

Prentiss tried for a smile, something warm and knowing to match the understanding that stretched between her and J.J., but J.J. just shook her head as the corners of her mouth turned down.

“You’re becoming more and more like Hotch by the day,” she sighed, and Prentiss felt as if she’d been gut-punched. They stood together, not meeting each other’s eyes, in silence for a minute until Reid rounded the corner and entered the kitchen with his own mug in hand. His hair was sparkling a bit in the overhead lights and Prentiss thought the skin on his forearms glowed a little unnaturally. He caught her staring and looked puzzled. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from smiling.

“Hi guys,” he said cautiously as he shuffled towards the coffee pot. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” J.J. smiled. “You left your umbrella at our place. I brought it with me. It’s in my office.”

“Oh thanks. I wondered where I left it.” He filled his mug and then poured enough sugar into it to meet his quota for the month. Prentiss made a face at the process and then Reid looked up and saw her doing it. His brow wrinkled and then she just couldn’t stop herself from commenting.

“Have a good weekend, Reid?” she asked and both J.J. and Reid looked surprised by the question. J.J. seemed proud, but Reid was a little suspicious. Prentiss kept her neutral boss expression in place as she continued. “It must’ve been fun, whatever it was. You’re positively _glowing._ ”

J.J. rolled her eyes, realizing what Prentiss was up to. Reid just stood there gaping, color draining from his face inexplicably. Then Prentiss stepped forward and ran her index finger lightly down one of his arms, swiping some glitter away and then showing him the evidence as she smirked. His color immediately changed to something rosier, but also relieved. He looked to J.J.

“You told her?”

J.J. nodded with a ‘gotta-share-the-pain’ look of glee.

“I’ve had four showers already,” he mumbled, a bit defeated.

“Better have another one,” Prentiss chuckled as she walked past with her coffee in hand. “Or get used to being _Sparkly_ Spencer Reid.”

She heard him groan and J.J. giggle. Walking back to her office she felt proud of herself. _There. If that wasn’t friendly, I don’t know what is. No need for anyone to complain now._

\----

“Hey, Chief Hot Mama!”

Prentiss’s head whipped up so quickly it should have made a snapping noise. She looked around the bullpen and found her team collected about Tara and Reid’s desks. Garcia was waggling her eyebrows and smiling with glittery menace.

“We’re all going to Clancy’s for half-priced pints and wings. And also drunken delights and possibly, but by no means probably, debauchery.” Garcia winked while everyone behind her cringed and tried to melt into the flooring. Reid looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from mortification. “Wanna coooooome?” Garcia wiggled her fingers around like she was casting a spell.

Prentiss laughed and immediately deflated the tension caused by the inappropriate behavior. After all she was the boss, but she wasn’t without a sense of humor…

“Not on your life, Pen. Boundaries: you gotta know when to hold them, and never, ever fold them.”

Tara and Alvez smirked. J.J. gave her a flat look that was all cautious safety and zero insight. Reid’s head whipped around as he looked at her as if she’d just sideswiped his pet. But Garcia was undeterred.

“Oh, c’mon… When was the last time you had a wild night out, huh?”

“2009,” Prentiss deadpanned.

“Well… well, my point exactly! All the more reason to come out and kill off some brain cells with the rest of us. Maybe have a little accidental fun… get the vital digits of a local stud muffin…”

“Garcia,” she rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Hrumph,” Garcia pouted for a split second while the others took it as a sign to begin packing up and perhaps get the tech analyst with no social filter out of the building while the going was good. Then her expression changed into something secret and knowing. She snapped her fingers and yanked Reid forward by his shoulders. He yelped. Loudly.

“You, Dr. Brilliant, convince her.” Garcia poked him hard and before either he or Prentiss knew it, he was standing six feet in front of her. They stood blinking at each other for longer than was acceptable.

 _Shit._ He seemed to be thinking the same thing and then he shrugged.

“Y-you should come.” He tried to look like it didn’t matter to him, and something inside her pinged annoyingly. “It’ll be fun.” His voice got high. Garcia sighed loudly and then poked him hard again.

“C’mon, Reid. Nut. Up.” 

He yelped as she jabbed him twice and Prentiss was close to shutting this conversation down with a pro-level scowl aimed liberally at all of them. But J.J. tactfully stepped in as she so often did.

“What Spence is trying to say is that we’d love it if you came along.” J.J. smiled. “It probably won’t be anywhere near as dangerous as Garcia proposes.”

“Oh, yes it will!”

J.J. waved her off. “C’mon, Emily. When was the last time we all went out together as a team?”

She knew exactly when. It was the night Reid got plastered and kissed her like she was his oxygen. It was before everything went to shit. It was back when she hoped they had a chance. Her eyes flicked to his involuntarily and she could see he was back there too. A bush rose to his cheeks and his eyebrows wrinkled in worry, his mouth hanging open a little as if he wanted to say something. Then, out of nowhere, he straightened his shoulders and gave her a hopeful look.

“It really would be nice if you came along.” He gave her a smile that she hadn’t seen in ages, all teeth and exuberance from the days of their youth, as he rocked on his feet. And, dammit, it _still_ did something to her. “Ditch the reports just for tonight. Let’s have fun like we used to… like old times.”

And her heart ached for that - to go back in time to when things were more clear-cut. It was so tempting to pretend, and he was giving her a look that she’d failed to fight off so often in the past. But one night was one night, and the issues would still be lurking in the morning. She knew that too well from experience. They couldn’t go back. She shook her head and gave him an amused look she didn’t feel.

“Nah, but thanks for the invitation, Reid. Maybe some other time. Go have a blast with the others. You deserve it.” She patted his arm once, like she imagined Hotch would, and then backed away. His joy stuttered and then drained from him. He blinked as if he’d been hit with something.

“You sure?” he tried again, looking as if he’d heard her wrong.

“Go on now.” Prentiss stretched her benevolent boss mask as far as it would go, determined to make this new state of being between them work no matter how much it sucked. She busted out her most winning smile at him, and it almost looked as if he rocked back on his feet a bit in the shockwave of amiability. “How much fun can you truly have if I’m there, huh? Bosses don’t know how to relax – we have that part of our brains excised when we sign the work contract.”

Garcia made another disgusted ‘hrumph’ sound and decided to go torture Alvez instead. J.J. looked disappointed and turned away. Reid looked deflated.

“You’re always fun,” he said quietly, and it cracked her mask slightly. She wasn’t prepared for the shy way he said it or how his mouth turned down at the corners when he did. “It’d be… it’d be nice to hang out. That’s all.”

He began shuffling a few things into his bag and half turned away from her. Her chest made a confusing stab-expand feeling and she reached for his arm, touching it just long enough to get his attention and then breaking contact.

“Hey,” she mumbled back, aiming for ‘friendly’. “Another time, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He gave her a smile that didn’t come close to making the grade, and then he shook it all off. He looked over his shoulder at Garcia messing with Alvez’s self-worth, and called out, “You ready?”

“I was born ready for drunken celebrations, Baby Face,” she winked back.

“First round’s on you then,” he smirked and shuffled after the rest of the gang. “But nothing with an umbrella in it.”

“It’s not _celebrating_ unless the drinks come with _accessories,_ ” Garcia whined.

Then they were gone and he didn’t look back. She decided not to as well, and walked back to her office instead.

\----

It was late on a Friday when a knock sounded so loudly on her office door as she typed up performance reviews that she yelped and swore she could feel a few years being shaved off her life in the process. Prentiss glanced up and saw Reid’s scruffy silhouette lurking in the doorway.

“Christ, Reid,” she gusted and patted her chest to convince her heart to obey gravity again. “You scared the shit outta me…”

“Sorry,” he mumbled and shuffled into the light from her desk. He looked unsure and apologetic. “I need louder shoes, I guess.”

She took a moment and then chuckled. “Yeah, louder shoes. That’s the answer. What are you still doing here? It’s Friday night - that’s like another name for ‘freedom’, you know.”

He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets, setting his body at sharp, acute angles that always caught her attention. The muscles in his forearms flexed a little as he twitched, and she forced her eyes to look away.

“I was just finishing up some prelims for the quarterly review.”

“That’s not for another two weeks. It could’ve waited, Reid. No need to stay late.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “Just thought I’d get a head start on it.” His arms flexed again and drew her eyes back. _Dammit._ She forced herself to look at his face but that wasn’t any less distracting, the strong shadows in her office painting his cheekbones and jawline in compelling contrasts.

“What are you working on?” he said after a moment, stepping forward.

“Just performance reviews. And then I have some financing proposals to fill out for the Director’s office. It’s a barrel of laughs, let me tell ya.” She huffed and leaned back in her chair. “My respect for Hotch grows daily. How he ever managed all of this as well as finding time for Jack…”

She shook her head a little as she stared at her inbox. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take a step closer.

“Well, the performance reviews are confidential, but I could help with the finance proposals, I guess.”

She looked at him, confused, and he was staring at her in a warm way that she chalked up to the late hour and the dim lighting and nothing else. He flashed her his shy smile and then stepped up until he was just on the other side of her desk.

“I’m really good at paperwork, especially at a federal level. Might as well use that to your advantage.” He grinned and held it, even when she saw the moment that he doubted himself. “We could get some dinner. You know, multitask this together… get it off your to do list… I’d be happy to help.”

She felt herself sink into her chair with the weight of what she had to do next. She hoped that J.J. hadn’t put him up to this, she really did. And she steadfastly refused to acknowledge the excited patter in her chest that his invitation had elicited.

“Reid,” she said in a measured way, trying to look compassionate yet reserved. “Thank you for offering. Truly. But… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The statement hit him exactly as she thought it might, but he held onto his smile regardless. His mask probably would’ve convinced anyone other than her.

“Why not? You’ve gotta eat, right? And with the two of us doing the work, it’ll go much faster.”

“Spencer,” she tried again. It was the first time she’d used his given name in well over a year, and he noticed, his mask crumbling completely. “It’s been quite a year. But things have begun to settle in the last few months and we’re in a good place right now. I’m so happy that you decided to stay with us - I couldn’t be more proud of you for the effort you’ve made.”

She nodded and gave him a gentle smile, a _professional_ smile. “I don’t think we should mess with success here.”

“Oh.” It slipped out of him like a breath rather than speech, and his eyes ducked away from hers. He began rocking on his feet nervously as his gaze flicked around her office looking for something to distract him. She swallowed hard as she watched him and the patter in her chest got painful, heavy.

“You okay?” she asked after a terrifyingly long moment of silence.

“Of course,” he blurted and then made fleeting eye contact again as if to drive it home. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight then.”

He turned on his heel and moved quickly. So quickly that the pattering chest panicked and asserted its control over her rationality in a split second.

“It was really kind of you to think of me, Reid. I didn’t expect it, but I’m grateful.”

He turned back, a half-profile silhouette lurking by the doorway. She saw his shoulders rise as he breathed in, and then the tangles of his hair flutter when it stuttered out of him again.

“I… I miss talking with you,” he murmured in a voice that didn’t belong in her office. It reminded her of darkness and things she’d tried to pack away over a year ago. She felt her cheeks heat and hoped that he was too far away to notice.

“I’m always here if you want to talk, Reid.”

He made a noise - something disappointed or dismissive maybe - and then he said _‘of course’_ again before shuffling out of the room.

She sat quietly for a while, not thinking about anything. After she thought she was safe from the crazy impulses of her limbic system, she reached for her phone and ordered some Chinese food to go with her Friday night paperwork. Her hand only shook slightly as she did it.

\----

Michael LaMontange’s birthday party was a bizarre assortment of demented, sugar-infused toddlers, balloons, paper hats, inexplicable screeching, and rubber-faced FBI agents. And Sergio. Garcia had brought along the aloof cat complete with a crepe paper bonnet tied to him that Prentiss watched him spend half the day trying to rub off on J.J.’s furniture. After hours of unholy birthday child terror, miserable catness, and a few too many glasses of wine, Prentiss found a pair of scissors and released her former pet from his punishment.

“I feel your pain, buddy,” she whispered as the hat fell away and Sergio took off with a yowl of freedom. 

She chuckled as she watched him skitter away, right past Reid’s legs as he stood just inside the living room and watched the proceedings. He twitched as Sergio rushed past him, spilling his drink over his hands, and then shook the hair from his eyes as he went back to leaning and observing. Prentiss rocked back on her heels and watched Reid watch everyone else, her smile fading. He looked different today. There was a wistfulness to his stare that was hiding a lot more than it was displaying. She was very familiar with that sort of double-edged expression and it produced a sudden cold weight at the center of her. 

He smiled slightly as Rossi attempted to teach the children some sort of song in Italian. Distantly, Prentiss realized that the lyrics were extremely inappropriate and thought that Reid might have picked up on that as well. What surprised her more was that Reid was on the periphery. He usually dived into any activity with J.J.’s boys with gusto, but today he seemed to want to be invisible. He smiled wider as the toddlers decided to attack Rossi en masse, producing the sharp lines and toothy grin that Prentiss never tired of seeing. It was a special treat this time because he wasn’t hiding it, unaware that anyone was watching him in his joy. She loved him that way - always had - and she wished that she’d told him so before it became impossible to say such things without being crushed by baggage. 

He went to take a sip of his drink and discovered his glass empty, now liberally distributed over his hands instead, and put the glass down, sucking a finger into his mouth absently instead. Prentiss swallowed along with him as she watched, and then his eyes suddenly grazed the room and found her watching him. He pulled his finger free and his expression closed off as he looked away from her and then pushed off the doorframe and shuffled out of her sight down the hall. It felt like a huge _‘NO’_ hurled straight at her and she couldn’t help but flinch. She shook off the sting of it, and the unease his isolation had produced, and went in search of more wine.

Later, after the children’s sugar crashes made it easy to put them to bed and the adults could breathe a sigh of relief, Prentiss realized that Reid was still separated from the group. She glanced up from the remnants of BBQ and cake and booze across the dining room table, looking above the drunken, contented smiles of her team, and found him just on the edge of the room again, a new drink in hand but the same disturbing sense of invisibility surrounding him. Hours of drinking had made her brave enough to face this head on, because if some new calamity was going to hit them she was determined to take the brunt of it. So, she rose quietly from the table, everyone too engrossed in one of Rossi’s terrible stories to notice her absence, and snuck around until she came up silently beside him. He felt her presence and twitched, but didn’t move away.

“You’re lurking,” she sipped her wine and watched everyone laugh at the story.

“And so are you,” he murmured without looking at her.

“Mine’s different. I’m lurking after the lurker. It’s, like… active an’ stuff.”

“Active an’ stuff?” He glanced at her sideways. She sighed.

“I’ve had about a bottle and a half of wine to myself. Give me a break.”

“Okay, so… we’re lurking,” he shrugged and seemed content to leave it at that. She shuffled a little closer and he tensed without acknowledging it.

“ _Why_ are we lurking?” she asked.

“I think you’re doing it because you’re a little bored. Or maybe it’s the wine.” He gestured airily towards her. He might have been right about her being bored. “I’m doing it… because I’m trying to come to a decision about something.”

She held her breath for a moment. “A decision about what?”

He sighed and then turned to face her looking much more tired than he should. “A decision about whether to resign from the Bureau or not.”

She took in the dark smudges under his eyes, the knowing fatigue coloring his features, and the wide hazel gaze that told her he was _done_ with hiding things from her, and a distinct cold snap zipped along her limbs and woke her out of the wine-fog she’d been in just a moment before. She reached out wrapping a hand around his bicep and squeezing too hard as she frowned. His eyes widened slightly, mouth falling open as if to say something else, but she just leaned close and murmured, “Wait a second. Not here.”

Putting her glass down but not letting go of him, she angled them down J.J.’s hallway until she found a door just off the kitchen. She looked around, opened it. A pantry - small but private. She shoved him in and then followed, shutting the door and fumbling for the light switch that barely illuminated anything with the single, small bulb dangling above them. His expression looked like he wanted to object, but he’d kept it to himself.

“What’s going on?” Prentiss let him go but cocked her hands on her hips to tell him he wasn’t leaving until he explained himself. “Talk to me.”

“A few offers have come to me lately,” he sighed. “There are always a few. I usually don’t pay much attention. But now, well… one has caught my eye.”

“Another agency?”

He shook his head, no. “A teaching position. It’s tailor made for me.”

“Teaching?” She had no idea he was interested in that. She had no idea he was even looking to get out. Basically she just had no idea about him at all anymore. “Is this about money? Because I can get you more, Reid. All you had to do was ask. The Bureau knows what they have in you but they’ve been stingy for years-”

“It’s not about money,” he said softly, grabbing her arm and then realizing it and dropping his hand quickly. “I think… maybe it’s just time for a change.”

“Reid, do better,” she said crossing her arms. “If it’s not about money, then what is it about? People don’t make changes to their lives like this if they’re content. Trust me, I know.”

He stared at her in the dim light, his eyes huge and his spine slouching as if he didn’t have enough energy to keep himself vertical. Beyond the pantry door they heard the muffled sounds of their friends laughing and hooting in drunken joy. Finally, he broke his gaze and looked away seeming to curl into himself and she recognized it immediately as him backing away from something he was unsure of. She checked her aggressive stance, dropping her arms to her sides and trying to appear more approachable. If he was actually going to leave, she wanted to know why and a selfish part of her told her that she deserved the whole truth one last time.

“Reid,” she broke the quiet. “Just tell me, whatever it is. If you want to go, I won’t stop you. I promise. Just… please talk to me. Just this once.”

He looked at her again and he seemed broken somehow. It took her breath away. He was dressed in dark colors, his purple tie slightly askew, and she realized that it was the same tie that he’d worn to Diana’s funeral. It was the tie she’d used to lead him to her bed. It was impossible to tell if he’d done it on purpose, but she was suddenly chilled by the ominous, silent _‘Goodbye’_ that seeing it echoed through her. 

“I’ve been… reviewing a lot of things in the past year. Since Mom died.” His voice was soft, almost lost in the bursts of hilarity coming from the dining room. “Terrible events can make you do terrible things. I know this from experience, and in the past coming back to work has helped me heal from them.”

His throat bobbed noticeably but when he continued his voice was even.

“But some of us are missing. Hotch, Morgan, Rossi’s retired now…”

The unspoken YOU was loud between them and she did her best not to react to it.

“And on balance, my behavior during Mom’s illness, and afterwards, was much more egregious than it’s ever been before.”

She wasn’t going to argue against that point, but she felt compelled to remind him that he wasn’t himself. The proof lay in the fact that he was standing before her today acting very much like the man she’d known for a decade and not like the one who’d broken her without a second thought.

“You were hurtful. I’m not gonna deny that. But it wasn’t you, Reid. You lost your mind for a little while.” He looked up at her, strangely hopeful. “But you came back. You worked hard and you reclaimed yourself. It takes guts to work through pain like that instead of just avoiding it. We’ve all seen how grief can break people.”

She held his eyes for a moment and then decided to give him something he’d never asked for. Just because. “You’re not… lesser because you stumbled, Reid. We all wished that you’d let us help, but even when you didn’t, none of us thought you were weak.”

He swallowed hard again and then whispered, “You didn’t?” and it was obvious the ‘you’ was just her and not the team. She took a breath and then shook her head, no. “Never.”

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out for her, and her heart thudded a loud BOOM in her chest at that, but he stopped himself and just flicked the seam of his pocket instead.

“Thank you,” he mumbled and then fell silent. She watched him carefully.

“Is that what this decision is all about?” she asked. “Or is there something else?”

“There are… other factors. The work doesn’t entice me the way it used to. Maybe there’s a limit on the amount of horror I can witness and still find the mysteries compelling…”

She nodded at that. It was something she’d considered more than once in her career.

“I used the work as a shield against dealing with Mom for years. And now that she’s gone, I feel guilt about that. The guilt is tied to the work, I guess.” He looked to his shoes and sighed. “And then there’s you.”

“Me?” Her chest constricted suddenly and her hand rose to absently tap her sternum. _Breathe, honey. Remember to breathe._

He nodded, still not looking at her. “You were my friend. The best one I ever had, and I screwed that up. I _watched_ myself screw it up - like a dissociative experience or something - and I couldn’t stop it from happening. I wanted to. I really, really wanted to…”

His voice choked off and then he cleared his throat roughly, making his hair vibrate with the effort. Then his eyes rose to meet hers, unguarded and sad. 

“I hurt you. Badly. I never thought I could do that to you and all it took was grief to make it happen. I don’t blame you for being unable to forgive it - I’m not sure I can forgive myself for doing it. But the inevitable result of that is… that I’m just not sure I can spend the rest of my adult life working for the woman I love, and then lost out of stupidity. I don’t think I have that kind of resolve in me.”

She blinked at him for what felt like forever, her fingers tapping her chest for dear life. _BreatheBreatheBreatheBreathe…_ She tried to say something but nothing came out. She clamped her mouth shut so she’d look slightly less ridiculous. Then she felt fingers wrap around hers tapping on her chest, and gently pulling them away.

“I’m so sorry, Emily,” he whispered, lowering their linked fingers to their sides - the only connection between them. “Ruining our friendship is my biggest regret. You should know that, even at my most irrational, there was a part of me that was aware of how wonderful you were. That part of me was ashamed of my behavior even as I was doing it. It just wasn’t strong enough to stop me. You were fearless and compassionate and everything I’d come to expect from our years together, and I… I _can’t believe_ I abused it the way I did. I know now that I can’t make amends for that. You were right about that…”

 _Wait, what?_ “R-right about what?” she choked out.

“When you said we shouldn’t mess with success. You were right. But I don’t know if I can handle that, so that’s when I began to consider making a change.”

Her head was spinning and without the guidance of her tapping fingers, she was finding it hard to breathe again. Too much wine, too much unresolved bullshit, too much _him_ … She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t a boss, or an agent, or his friend at that moment. She was just goddamned lost and the unfairness of it all coalesced into a helpful spurt of rage that cleared out all of the other confusing impulses like a flashover flame.

“Fuck you, Spencer Reid…” she mumbled to herself.

“What?” He looked absolutely horrified.

“Go out with me tomorrow night.”

His horror changed into rapid, confused blinking that would probably induce a seizure if he kept up that pace. “ _What?_ ”

“Dinner. Tomorrow night.” She gave him a serious glare. “You owe me. There’s no way we’re gonna figure this out in a hidden conversation in J.J.’s pantry.”

And as if to prove her point, the pantry door suddenly opened to reveal a wobbly but shocked Garcia. She glanced at both of them as they froze and blinked back at her. Then her sparkly gaze dropped to their linked fingers. Reid let go of Prentiss’s hand a moment later, but the implication was obvious.

“Hi,” Garcia said, blinking between their emotionless expressions. “J.J. sent me to find tequila…” Her hands made weird gestures to fill up the empty awkwardness that she couldn’t seem to solve.

“In the high cupboards over the sink,” Reid blurted as he blushed. “Where Henry can’t reach it.”

“Oh, of course. Of course… so… _that’s_ where I’m going now. To find tequila. And I’ll just leave you two here to whatever you’re not doing because I wasn’t here and no one keeps booze in a pantry so why would I look in here in the first place, right? And everything’s fine and I still don’t know anything and that’s what I’ll say when asked. And so.”

She unceremoniously shut them back into the pantry. Prentiss took a deep breath and let it out slowly, knocking her head against the canned goods behind her.

“Great. Now I have to talk to her again,” she muttered.

“Again?” Reid squeaked.

“She saw us once before. It’s not important right now.” Prentiss waved it off and then fixed Reid with a pleading stare. “Spencer, come out tomorrow. Let’s do this where there is zero chance of one of our professionally curious friends finding us. _Please._ ”

Reid blinked for half a minute and Prentiss was working up to saying something irritated when he nodded and murmured, “Okay.”

“Okay,” she huffed and then wondered how she was going to get out of that pantry. In the end, they stared at each other for another minute and then Prentiss made a break for it, striding out of the little cupboard without looking back and repeating, “Okay.”

\----

She waited for him at their favorite diner in their usual booth because she decided that it set the proper tone. This was _not_ a date. This was two estranged people trying to figure their shit out before it was too late. If the location were easy and familiar, it would make things less complicated. Definitely not a date, even though she spent far too long deciding on the right blouse to match with her best-fitting pair of jeans, and she’d given over too much time and worry to whether her make-up was appropriate or alluring. When he arrived, hustling into the booth with a mumbled apology for being thirty seconds late, she realized that he was busy acting like this wasn’t a date as well. But his shirt was new, his vest fit him _just so_ , his tie matched the color of his barely visible pocket square, and his hair was artfully floppy rather than distractedly floppy. So they were both being idiots about this. A great start.

“Hi,” he gusted as he took her in after he settled. His eyes widened and then he tried to hide it, and Prentiss thought, _‘Damn, we’re on a fucking date’_ as she tried to avoid doing the same thing to him.

“Listen, do you mind if we just get straight to it?” It came out more frustrated than she intended. She still didn’t even know what she was going to say to him, and had no idea why she wanted to rush.

“Uh, no. Go ahead.” The poor guy looked like he was bracing himself for whiplash.

“I don’t know what to do about this,” she sighed. “I really want you to stay with the Unit, but that’s your decision to make not mine. And I can’t say that my reasons for wanting you to stay are wholly professional either. Which may influence your choice. And I guess I feel that unless I’m honest with you about that, anything I do or say in this situation is a little bit like manipulation. I don’t want to manipulate you, Spencer.”

Reid nodded, his face settling into a serious frown. The waitress came over and took their drink orders, blissfully unaware of the tension she’d stepped into and then out of again. After she was gone, Reid ran his finger along a crack in the linoleum and got thoughtful.

“Why do you want me to stay, considering everything that’s happened?” he asked quietly.

“Well, there’s a considerable professional part to it. You’re irreplaceable, Spence. You know that. I’d probably have to hire three agents to do the work you do on your own. And there’s a morale issue if another long-term agent leaves the fold. And finally, not the least of my concerns would be the criticism that would fall on me and my ability to lead. Everyone knows we’re close - what would it say about me that I couldn’t keep my friend from resigning?”

“I never really thought about it in those terms.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said too abruptly and he looked up at her. “It’s something a subordinate wouldn’t consider and there’s an argument to be made that it’s not your concern. But you also didn’t think about it because you’re a man and you don’t really see how expectations of a _female_ superior in this line of work are very different from a male’s.”

Now his expression was confused. She sighed just as the waitress returned with their drinks and blithely interrupted again to take their orders.

“I worked my ass off to get here, Spencer. I mean, we all did, but it’s harder for a woman. Just ask J.J. I sacrificed a lot for this career: relationships, a family, friends, anything that could remotely be considered stable… Making the BAU was my dream. And then to be given the opportunity to _lead_ that team… it was more than I thought possible. But even so, I’ve been aware since day one that allowance for failure is narrow and capricious.”

She raised a finger at him. “Gideon was unstable.” She raised a second one. “Hotch allowed many questionable acts that should’ve gotten him fired and for which he was often investigated. And yet both of them were allowed to lead for years, even lauded as pioneers in the field. Christ, Hotch killed George Foyet with his bare hands after the man surrendered himself into custody, and yet he remained the team leader for a decade!” 

She shook her head in a tired way. “Don’t mistake me: I love Hotch and try to live up to his example daily but I _know_ I will not be given that sort of leeway. All it will take is a dip in performance, the loss of a valued team member, or a personal indiscretion and I’ll be seen as unfit to lead. And if I fail at the BAU, I’ll never get another leadership offer from another agency. I’ll be seen as tainted, and all of that effort I expended, all of the sacrifices made will be for nothing. I accept this and I’ll challenge it, but I’m not happy about it. The double standard is real, Spencer. Don’t be naïve about that.”

She watched as that settled over him, and then his finger went back to worrying the linoleum as he swallowed and spoke up. “Well then, I guess I really don’t understand why you’re letting me choose. Why aren’t you just compelling me to stay?”

“Because your life is _your choice_ , Spence. It always has been.” She leaned hard into the table top as she tried to make him understand. “You’re my friend - even with the distance between us now - and I love you and want you to be happy. I’ll always encourage you to make a choice out of love rather than obligation. Always. You’ve been doing what you were obligated to do for a long time, but now you have a chance to live for yourself. I don’t know what decision is right for you, and I’m not really sure what I’m hoping for here, but I wanted the opportunity to be honest about the options. I wanted you to know the consequences behind the choices I’ve made and that… I’m not holding you responsible for whatever happens as a result. You said that you couldn’t forgive yourself for ruining us, but I knew the moment I kissed you in Houston that we were going somewhere we couldn’t come back from. I could’ve stopped it, but I didn’t. We’ve gotta share the consequences of that.”

“W-why didn’t you stop it?” he asked after a halting moment. She squirmed a little in her seat, and then told herself that she had a good run as BAU unit chief.

“Because somewhere over the years, the love I felt for you changed. I don’t know when exactly, but something seemed different when I came back from London. When I saw you in Houston - how much you were hurting - I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to take it from you. I wanted to make it better. That was stupid, I guess, because all I did was make things worse.”

His gaze got glassy and the lines around his mouth relaxed as it fell open in a surprised O. He reached for her hand just as the waitress appeared with their plates, smiling absently.

“Here you-” she began.

“Go away,” Reid turned and gave her a look that wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You seem like a nice girl - this isn’t personal. But take the plates and go away. Now, please.”

The waitress blinked, smile fading, and then mumbled ‘okay’ as she walked away again with their food.

“Sorta rude, Spence-” Prentiss hushed as she watched her meal disappear, but he stopped her cold when he clasped her hand tightly in his.

“You’re saying that it’s bad for you if I stay, and it’s bad for you if I go, but that you love me anyway and… and that it wasn’t just some impulse you acted on because of an extreme situation?” He said it as though he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged, trying to keep her pulse even as his fingers slid up around her wrist. “I don’t want you to make a decision on half-baked intuition or veiled conversations. I want you to know where I stand on all of it. I wanted to be with you. It wasn’t a temporary or unconsidered choice. When you pushed me away, it didn’t just hurt me, it put me at professional risk, and that’s when I decided to be strict about our boss-subordinate roles. I thought you’d get over it in time - you said it was just grief. But I don’t want you to be miserable. If you can’t work with me, you have to do what’s right for you. I’ll figure it out like I always have.”

His grip on her wrist tightened. There was no way he would miss the frantic tha-thump under his fingers.

“It wasn’t grief!” he hissed urgently. “I mean, the insensitive jerk behavior certainly was, but not the rest of it, Emily. Not the rest.”

“It’s… hard to separate the two,” she gulped, wanting her hand back. “It’s difficult to forget that you refused my help every step of the way, or the way you kissed me, or how disposable I felt when you walked into work with that damned hickey on your neck…”

His whole frame slouched towards the table and he shook his head until his hair bounced into his eyes. “That was so _fucking_ stupid…”

The word shocked her, as did his free hand gripping the table until the tendons in it stood out noticeably. He looked up at her suddenly, pleading.

“I was drunk almost all the time after the funeral. Right up until you gave me your ultimatum. I thought it was better than getting high… I was terrified of slipping and getting high. I-I don’t have a clear memory of how it happened, but I know I didn’t sleep with her, or anyone else. I-it’s not a justification - I made out with a random stranger… I _did_ that, but…”

“You didn’t mean it?” she arched an eyebrow at him and he seemed to wither even further.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“You know how shitty that sounds, right?”

“Yes.” His grip eased up but he didn’t let go, and he wasn’t looking at her anymore. “But I still love you, Em.”

“Fuck,” she muttered. What a damned mess. And now her heart was crashing around in her chest because it only heard the ‘love’ part and not the tangled, painful, impossible rest of it.

“Your pulse is racing,” he whispered as his fingers soothed over her wrist.

“Yeah, well, my heart’s a dumb creature. But it’s just a part of me.”

“If I had the right to ask for anything, it would be to have all of you,” he said quietly, and that just made her heart go haywire. “When it comes right down to it, I was going to leave the Unit because you were beyond my reach and I can’t let it go. It’s a small and selfish reason, but you said I could be that if I wanted to.”

“I did,” she breathed.

“Emily, please look at me.”

She did as he asked, and he seemed as wrecked as her stupid heart felt. “If there’s even a whisper of a chance that we could be more some day, I’d stay. I’d be professional. I’d wait. Whatever you decided, I’d follow your lead. If you needed me to go because the risk to your career was too great, I’d do that too. All you’d have to do is say it. But if there’s _no chance_ … I have to leave because I’m not gonna get over you if you’re always ten feet away from me.”

“Fuck,” she mumbled again but this time it was wet and broken. She felt his fingers slide up her arm and circle the skin inside her elbow. She closed her eyes to try and regain some equilibrium and she heard him lean forward over the table, the heat of him pressing back into her. He didn’t say anything, just waiting, the ends of his stupid, artfully floppy hair tickling her face. 

“Stay,” she whispered. “Goddammit, stay, you idiot, and… I dunno, I’ll make a miracle happen or something.”

“Really?”

She opened her eyes and he was _right there_ with his earnest disbelief and his hope and his gorgeous damned face and all she wanted was for things to be easier than they were so that she could give herself permission to forgive him right then and there and she could kiss him until his lips turned blue.

“Yeah, really,” she said, but then placed her free hand against his chest and gently pushed him back across the table. “But don’t get excited. If we do this at all, it’s gonna be slow. I need to feel sure that you won’t freak out on me again because one crash and burn is about all I can handle from you. Get it?”

He nodded vigorously. “Got it.” Then he smiled, big and shocked. “I’m gonna learn you, Emily. I’ll do this right this time.”

_Jesus, did he even know how stuff like that affected her?_

“We’ll see.” Her mouth twisted to cover up the emotional fireworks going off behind her ribs. “Lesson one might be don’t send away the waitress in favor of emotional catharsis when your date is hungry.”

His face went blank for a second and then he got it. “Right.” He waved their gun shy waitress back and apologized profusely asking for their meals again. Then it was burger grease, odd shy glances, and attempts at small talk. As she dipped one of her fries through the mess left on his plate and he made his usual face at it, her heart tripped a little and her mind spat out, _Guess it was a date after all._


	6. Shatter

Prentiss’s declaration that they were going to ‘take it slow’ dissolved on their first official date. A week and a half after the evening at the diner, they finally found time to go out and Reid disconcertingly treated it as if they’d time traveled back to 1953 or something. He picked her up at her building, dressed in one of his better suits, offering her flowers that she had no idea what to do with, and then taking her to a restaurant that was beyond his means. While she found it to be an amusing role play for the evening, she honestly wondered if he was going to approach this new _thing_ between them this way for the foreseeable future. She was all for nerdy, but they couldn’t un-ring the bell that had already sounded between them. They weren’t _this_ innocent.

After dinner, he offered her his arm and they walked through the late summer night together with no destination in mind. His hand curled over hers in the crook of his elbow and his mouth bowed in a secret smile as they wandered, but he didn’t say anything despite being unable to shut up during dinner. She watched him from the corner of her eye, wondering, and then she thought it might best to avoid another mistake if they could.

“So, is this how dates usually go for you?” she asked with a smile when he turned to her, eyes wide.

“Uh… well…” he stammered. “I, uh, don’t date much. Y-you said you wanted to… go slow…” He cleared his throat, color rising in his cheeks, and she found his befuddlement adorable in the way she always had. “H-how do dates usually go for you?”

“There’s usually more sexual tension and less courtliness,” she said flatly, still staring him down. “Lots of innuendo, game playing, sizing one another up, and then it almost always culminates in a certain level of groping. You know, fairly standard stuff, really.”

Okay, so she was messing with him a little. Her dating history had only smatterings of debauchment and she hadn’t been on an actual date in longer than she cared to remember. But he deserved it, and they had to start being honest with one another if they had any chance at all.

“I, uh… I…. no. I guess I don’t really know.” He seemed crestfallen and a part of her chided _‘Okay now, that’s enough, Emily’._ They walked in silence for half a block before he found the nerve to speak again, and when he did, his voice was very unsure. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

She pulled on his arm until he stopped and turned to face her. He was using his hair and the angle of the streetlights to hide his expression from her.

“I want us to look before we leap, Spencer.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Tonight has been lovely, but it’s not who we are. Not really. I don’t want to whitewash what’s already happened, but I also don’t want to repeat our mistakes. Does that make sense?” She stepped closer, her dress pressing against his seams; she could feel the buttons of his jacket brush her abdomen under the breezy silk. Then she felt more than heard the sudden breath he took at the movement. “If this makes you happy then we can do it for a while, but it’s not really what I need.”

“What do you need?” he said a little too airily and it made something in her tickle and stretch. His hand slid from her arm to her waist and just held her steady, a warm weight against the cool of the silk.

“I need us to be _us_ when we’re alone together. How we were in Houston and Vegas was us, but it was only a small part. Being friends is also us. Being nerdy or silly or sad or unbelievably serious is us too. I need to figure out if we can expand that ‘us’ to be more - is there something _passionate_ about this friendship, something immutable? If there is, how do we handle how that changes us without losing all of the other stuff? Do you understand?”

She peered up at him to see if he was absorbing any of what she was saying, and then his other hand slowly drifted up and stroked the side of her face. He nodded as his fingers traced a faint line along her cheek back and forth, back and forth…

“You need to ascertain if we’re worth the risk,” he said quietly. “And displays like tonight don’t help you do that.”

“Exactly,” she sighed and tried to control how the trace of his fingertips was making her warm in her barely-there summer dress. “Are you upset?”

“No,” he murmured, and it sounded like he was smiling a little. “You wouldn’t have taken the time to explain it if you were trying to hurt me.”

“I’d never hurt you on purpose,” she huffed quickly in case he had any doubts on that score.

“I know. But I also know that I _have_ hurt you on purpose and I wondered if you really were generous enough to let that go. And I guess a part of me was waiting for you to tell me I was doing this wrong. No one’s _that_ patient about a dinner conversation revolving around strange pygmy goat facts…”

She laughed and saw the moment when he shyly returned it, not knowing exactly what it meant. “Spence, you can pygmy goat fact me any night of the week. That’s oddly up my alley. But two hundred dollar dinners aren’t, and they aren’t really you either.” She took a breath and let the soft buzz of D.C. at night wrap them up. “I’m interested _in you._ ”

She could feel his stare intensify even if the details of it were lost in the shadows of him. His breath halted and restarted with a huff that breezed against her neck, and his fingers stopped tracing her, moving to cup her jaw instead. He leaned closer and she tipped up, arching as her fingers tangled in the fabric of his suit to draw him closer. Just as his lips were about to meet hers, he stopped. He breathed, shallow and damp, as the ends of his hair tickled her face.

“Emily.” It was heated and dark - the Vegas him - and every fiber of her tightened to know that _that version_ of him really existed and wasn’t some passing side effect of booze and despair.

His lips brushed hers, just a simple caress of skin on skin. His mouth was open, like he was in awe, and she could tell he was holding his breath. She nudged him, slipping until her lips caught one of his and drew him in. And then his mouth moved over hers, with her, soft and searching and powerful with how much he was holding back. His hand at her waist skimmed to her back and pulled her minutely closer so that they were a solid, warm presence against one another in the street with the city throbbing obliviously around them. Like a solitude trapped in a snow globe. When they broke apart with a gentle pop and a shared huff, she knew she had her answer about their passionate friendship, though how they’d make it last still eluded her. But she wasn’t worrying about that second part in that moment.

“I’ve never had a date quite like this before,” she whispered as he still held her close.

“Good,” he said in that voice that would be her undoing. “Neither have I.”

Humming contentedly she bumped his nose with hers. She didn’t give a damn that they were standing in the street. His lips moved to brush her cheek.

“Emily,” he murmured. “May I see you again?”

And she laughed. It was surprised and just slightly unhinged. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m not taking anything for granted. I would very much like to go out with you again - but something more like ‘us’ - and I’m asking permission to do that.”

She pinched him through his jacket just to get the satisfaction of hearing him yelp. She grinned. “Walk me home, you weirdo.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yes, you can see me again.” She took a beat and then let her recklessness carry her forward for an instant. “But you’re not done seeing me tonight.”

He snapped around to look at her too quickly as they resumed their slow, shuffling path.

“I mean, if you want.” She ducked her eyes away. “You could come up. To my place.”

His hand landed over hers where it had found a home in the crook of his arm again. He squeezed and then slipped one finger between two of hers to link them.

“That is really tempting,” he said, inching closer so that they bumped together as they walked. “But I’m going to decline.”

“Oh.” She tried not to sound rebuffed. It was the right answer, a _good_ answer.

Then his mouth was pressed against the hair above her ear. “I have a perfect memory of how that part of us works, of how great it feels to be with you that way,” he breathed so no one but her would hear. “I want to learn the things I don’t know about you. And when that’s done, being with you will be the reward for the effort I’ve made. I want to make a tremendous effort for you, Em.”

“Jesus,” she gusted and then leaned into him so that his whisper turned into a kiss in her hair. “Okay… just don’t get too lost in the details like you do sometimes. It’s unwise to tease an armed woman.”

He laughed and she curled against his shoulder to feel it ripple through her as he walked her home. The night was warm and she was warm under it, and him, and the possibility of what could be. Yeah, so much for taking it slow…

\----

He was being ludicrous.

It had been four weeks of surprisingly romantic, unexpectedly fun, frustratingly PG-rated dating, and now she was sitting with Reid in a nearly pitch black movie theater with no one around them in deep seats that hid all but the most obvious of making out from view, and he was _thoroughly engrossed in the crappy movie._ And he looked like a dork. It had been her bright idea to go to an old school 3D film double feature thinking it would be something that he’d love, and he did. And then there was the necessary conversation about how and when she’d originally watched _Clash of the Titans_ and why she was so giddy about tripping down memory lane and seeing a young Harry Hamlin through cheap mylar glasses again. Reid had promptly ignored her tale of _making out_ with her boyfriend when she’d first see the movie, and launched into a detailed history of the rise and fall of stop motion animation instead. And he’d worn his glasses instead of contacts so he’d found a paperclip somewhere and tied his 3D glasses _over_ his Buddy Holly ones and he looked like an uber-nerd.

A tall, sexy, uber-nerd who didn’t understand that no one came to these movies to SEE the movie. 

She sighed loudly and when that couldn’t tear his eyes away from the glitchy Kraken onscreen, she threw a handful of popcorn at him.

“You look ridiculous,” she said when he turned towards her, slightly put out by the snack shower.

“Why?” he whispered even though they were basically alone in the theater. “It’s a practical solution. It was either this or two hours of spatial confusion and blurriness.”

“Or you could _not_ watch the movie,” she said in a tone that suggested he was missing something.

“Why would we come here and not watch the movie?” Oh, for the love of…

She grabbed his jaw and pulled him in for a rough kiss. He almost upset the bag of popcorn in his lap as he jumped at her sudden assault. They broke apart with a gasp. She smiled broadly and wondered what that looked like through 3D glasses. He just looked confused in blue and red and green.

“Get a clue, bucko,” she said good-naturedly. She could almost see the thought bubble pop into existence above his head: oh.

“Oooooohhhhhhhh,” he mumbled, and then looked around like he was a truant on the lam. “Here? It’s public and… sticky.”

“Well, unless you’ve suddenly decided we can ramp this thing of ours up into explicit territory, we’re probably not gonna commit an act of public indecency in this theater today. Though I’m sure it’s no stranger to that sort of thing, hence _the stickiness_.” His whole body cringed and she had to admit - yeah, gross, but still… She took off her glasses and leaned on the armrest between them. “But it might be nice to see how far we could push our shame reflexes and your germ hysteria.”

He pushed his double glasses up to rest on top of his head, and in the flicker of Desmond Davis B film glory, she could see the color in his cheeks and the interest everywhere else.

“It’s not germ hysteria,” he husked, inching closer. “It’s critical, scientific concern about superbugs.”

“Sounds like the plot of a B movie to me. Is this a triple feature?”

She smirked but then his hands were cupping her face and his mouth silenced her amusement. He didn’t start slow like usual, perhaps taking a page from her earlier attack. There was urgency to him this time, a relentless searching with his lips, his tongue pushing to open her, his fingers gripping hard against her jaw. She hadn’t seen much of _this_ over the past month but she’d been willing to wait. Now she wondered what had changed. He moaned openly and it felt as though it can from somewhere secret and tormented; she stiffened a little because she couldn’t figure out the _why_ behind that uneasy sensation. Things had been going so well – at least she thought they were. He broke it off as suddenly as he’d started it and then seemed confused by what he’d done. She caught her breath and then pushed into his grip so that they hovered before one another but didn’t quite touch.

“That was a good start,” she encouraged but he backed off, now looking worried. “Hey… what’s going on over there?”

“I… didn’t mean to do that,” he gasped.

“Didn’t mean to do what? Make out with your girlfriend?” The label made her feel juvenile but she didn’t know what else to call it. He blinked at the word as well and then she watched the silent wonder replace his worry. “It’s okay to do this,” she murmured when he stayed quiet, staring. “I’ve been itching to do more for a while…”

“I know,” he blurted. “I’m just… a little afraid of the lust. I love the way we are together like this… out at the movies or shopping for books or talking all night out on your fire escape… but the way I want you scares me.”

She had to wait for Perseus to kill Cerberus onscreen before it was quiet enough to continue. “Why? Is it because of Houston and Vegas?”

He nodded, mouth turning down at the corners.

“Can you explain that?” she asked, trying not to assume the worst.

He sighed and then looked away to the screen without seeing it. In time, he turned back to her, shifting a little closer and wrapping her hand on the armrest in his.

“You know that I have an eidetic memory but you probably don’t understand how having perfect recall _feels._ ”

He squeezed her hand and then looked down at their linked grip. She waited.

“Human memories don’t fade, only the neurochemical links to them do making them harder to access. Technically, everyone could have perfect recollections if the neural links to them remained stable.” He was dithering and she wondered why. “I used to think that fading memories were a design flaw in people. Why would we be given the ability to be self aware only to lose knowledge almost as quickly as we gained it? But now, after what happened to Mom, I realize that _I’m_ the one who’s flawed because memories are designed to fade for a reason. It’s so we won’t be haunted by the things we’ve done and felt. We can remember them but the emotions associated with them become muted so we aren’t paralyzed by our past. That doesn’t happen for me.”

He glanced up to her and his eyes seemed huge and liquid even in the flickering light.

“Every time I reach for you like that… I remember that night in Houston and the one in Las Vegas. I remember how blissfully out of control I felt - like flying and not knowing how to land. I remember how frightening that was but also that I didn’t want the feeling to stop. I remember your voice, I can taste you, I can feel your heat across my skin… If I concentrate hard enough I can feel you shudder as you come and… it’s _not_ a recollection. It’s like it’s really happening to me again.”

He swallowed and shifted in his seat uncomfortably and she wondered if that was happening to him _right now._

“But those nights don’t have just passion attached to them. There’s also guilt, sadness, hesitation, even fear in those memories for me and they are all as powerful as the physical sensations are. Every time I want you, it all comes back.”

She choked for an instant as she tried to wrap her head around what he’d said, and then she pulled her hand from his. She always thought that their problem would be discovering they weren’t compatible as lovers. Now she saw that she may have been right, just not in a way she ever anticipated.

“Being with you this last month,” he continued, leaning forward but not reaching for her. “It’s been an entirely new experience for me - different from both our friendship and our intimacy. It’s this close, geeky, warm… love, and it’s completely intoxicating. It’s wholly _good,_ Emily, and nothing else, nothing negative. I’ve never felt anything like it and I’m spellbound.”

Prentiss blinked and then found her voice swirling in her internal mess of inadequacy and failure. “But when things get heady…”

“Every negative thing I thought or did because of those nights comes back and taints this wonderful thing we have _right now._ ”

“Well then,” she huffed in frustration both at him and that he’d let this go on for as long as he did without saying anything. “Where does that leave us, Spence? Because I love what we’re becoming as well, but neither one of us can go back in time and unmake the past.”

“I don’t know,” he sagged, sounding defeated. And then she was overcome by a wave of anger at him. How dare he give up so easily? How dare he introduce a new problem after she’d already batted down so many? And this problem, for once, was all _him._

“Well, fuck that, and fuck your big damned brain as well,” she growled, crossing her arms and looking back to the blurry screen.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did but I don’t understand.”

She glared back at him and his stupid double glasses and huge eyes and the desperate way he was leaning over the armrest between them. And goddammit she was furious that she was in love and it was _this_ hard.

“Just because the associations are intense doesn’t mean that you’re a slave to them, Spencer. You think those memories are bad? Fine. That’s not how I feel about them, and it’s a little insulting to me that you do, but fine. They’re negative to you, so… Make new memories.”

“But it’s not that-”

“Don’t give me anymore of that neurochemical complication,” she interrupted loudly. “If you were bitten by a dog as a child, do you spend the rest of your life avoiding dogs, or do you face that fear as the singular event it was and try to form a new association with dogs? C’mon, Spence, you’re so much smarter than this! Why am I the one explaining it to you?”

“I can’t be other than who I am,” he snapped, and there was a silent, implied _‘you don’t understand’_ to it that just made her angrier.

“Oh yeah? So you’re just gonna spend your life being what you’ve _been?_ You’re never gonna change? Never gonna grow? That sucks for you.” She breathed loudly through her nose and tried to throttle back the resentment and the tiny voice in the back of her brain that said, _‘he’s doing it again, pushing you away… told ya so…’_ “Why do you insist on making it so damned hard to fall for you, Spencer?”

And that shut him up, leaving him blinking in the dark, his cheeks oddly mottled in the film’s reflected light. She glared at him for nearly thirty seconds, waiting for anything, and then she sagged into her seat. She wondered if she should just get up and leave. Maybe they both needed to cool off.

“I don’t mean to make it hard,” he said eventually. She just snorted and refused to look at him.

“So, how long were you gonna let this go on before you told me about it?” she asked after another long, painful silence. “It’s been over a month, Spence.”

“It didn’t occur to me in the beginning. It just sorta… manifested as we went along.”

 _Great,_ she thought. _So I guess it’s over. Just like that._ She didn’t bother to say it aloud. Somehow that felt like too much. Onscreen Laurence Olivier was talking shit about the entitlement of Greek gods and all she could think about was how she was going to get out of that theater in one piece. And then she’d have to find a way to be his boss again. That would be fucking shitastic… Suddenly his finger skimmed across hers in her lap. It was hesitant but then it hooked under one of hers and held on.

“Wanna get out of here?” he murmured, and she nodded numbly. Had to get out somehow.

The night air was brisk. It was the end of summer, the days still warm, but the evenings were mercurial. Maybe rain was coming. They walked through the city in silence letting street life distract them from each other. But still, he held her hand the whole way to her condo and wouldn’t let go even when their hands got clammy. They stopped at the entrance to her building and he tugged their shared grip.

“May I come up?” he asked.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she hissed. _Why was he doing this?_

“Uh, I mean… may I come up so I can take you to the roof?”

“The roof?” She looked at him in exasperation and he wilted a little. Then she shrugged it off: _fuck it._ “Sure, why not? The roof it is.”

The roof was actually a communal garden and social space for the building’s tenants, but people rarely used it. D.C. wasn’t very neighborly in her experience. She’d dragged him up there a few times before because the view was spectacular and she loved the city at night from high above. It made her problems seem small and manageable, and no matter where you were in the world, almost every nighttime city seemed unspeakably beautiful, full of hope… She wondered if he was going to try and ruin that as well. But instead he was craned back looking straight up, squinting through his now-singular glasses and still holding her fingers in his.

“Damn,” he muttered. “We won’t see much. I think it’s gonna rain.”

“See what?”

“The meteor shower. It’s in the right part of the sky that we should be able to see some of it even with the light pollution.”

“Meteors? Really?” She perked up slightly, peering up and trying to see what he saw.

“Yep.” He glared at the sky with determination as if daring it to let him down. She huddled closer trying to stare at the same spots as him. The clouds swirled and broke above them in a complicated dance that told them how fast the air was moving over them and their terrestrial problems. Thunder rumbled distantly and Reid’s head snapped to the west.

“Ten miles. Maybe less,” he estimated. Then he looked back up. The clouds coalesced and then parted, and then the sky was _right there_ , stars wiggling as if they were being turned by unseen hands, and then the faintest sparks flickered across them.

“Look!” Reid raised their linked hands to the break in the clouds.

“I see it!” Prentiss squeezed her fingers in his and huddled against him even though it was humid with the coming rain. “Oh…”

They watched quietly, space debris flashing overhead like ancient magic. She made surprised bursts when the light show got impressive, and then murmured when the clouds shifted, waiting for more. He held her hand tightly and their sides brushed as they weaved under sky, necks cramping from the sharp angle.

“I love the universe,” he said suddenly and when she looked at him his face was awed and childlike as he half-grinned at the stars. She stared at his long thinness, his sharp edges, the way his hair was curling in the humidity, and the lines around his mouth as he breathed in wonder. Her chest squeezed hard enough that tears stung the corners of her eyes and all she could think was _‘fuck’._

But what she said was, “I love it too.”

There must have been something in her voice because he turned away from the stars and looked at her instead. The awe was still there but his smile dimmed and got cautious. He squeezed her hand.

“I know you do,” he murmured but it seemed to surprise him. It felt like what he really said was _‘I know you’._ He took one step closer and collected up her free hand. Then, in a move she never would have anticipated, he pulled her close and began to gently shuffle them in a circle. He hummed something soft and hopelessly off key that she couldn’t quite make out. She just let him turn them as they shuffled under the stars to his nameless tune and the distant thunder.

“I didn’t think you could dance,” she murmured against his shoulder, falling against him despite her best intentions.

“I can’t. I once screwed up my bad knee trying to line dance with Garcia. Thought I’d learned my lesson then, but apparently not.”

She laughed at the idea of him line dancing, and he laughed because she did.

“Sometimes it takes me a few tries to learn a lesson,” he added quietly after their laughter faded. She held him a little closer telling herself it was only because the coming rain had cooled the air. “I’ve been a jerk to you again,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t forgive you if you’re just gonna keep doing it,” she whispered back, now dancing with only the wind keeping time. “I can’t fix this for you, Spence.”

“I know and I don’t expect you to.” He turned them in a few circles before he spoke again. “Being with you before… I’m sorry if I made it sound horrible. It wasn’t. Quite the opposite actually. But it’s also complicated.”

“J.J. was right when she said that you had a talent for saying the wrong thing, in the wrong way, at exactly the worst time…” She sighed. “Everything about this is complicated, Spence. You knew that going in. Are you going to _do_ something about that, or is this just done? Because I can’t allow myself to continue falling while you waffle about it. I wanna be done with the drama - do you hear me?”

She pulled back and he stopped dancing, watching her as the first drops of rain darkened their clothes.

“There’s a limit, Spencer. No matter how I feel about you, there’s a limit to what I’m willing to put up with. You’ve gotta understand that. And when you close off, when you keep your thoughts to yourself, that really tests the boundaries of my limits.”

He nodded slowly, rain dappling his glasses and his mouth getting thin and tight. Then he shuffled close, dipping his head down onto one of her shoulders. 

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he whispered and gulped at the same time. “I’ve never felt this way… I didn’t think it would be so… vivid. It’s not like I haven’t done this before. But everything about this is different than I thought it would be.”

“What does that _mean,_ Spence?”

His arms shifted around her back and pulled her in. The rain stepped up from sprinkles to fat droplets and his body felt solid and warm against the chill that came with the storm gusts.

“I don’t want to stop,” he husked against her neck, making her shiver. “I can do better - I _have_ to. I can’t lose this, Em. It’s too far to go back now. I don’t want to return to being that guy who was content to live with less.”

“Then don’t. Just let it happen,” she hushed damply as she curled up on her toes and pulled him in as much as he was pulling her in. Her whole being seemed fired by rabid, baseless hope. “If you fight for this, I promise that I’ll always be there fighting alongside you.”

He made a soft, wet sound and squeezed her until her ribs complained. “You’re quite a friend, Emily,” he whispered. She moved her lips to kiss his neck, tasting his sweat and soap, and the ozone from the rain.

“Do something else for me,” she brushed into his skin.

“What?”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. They were impossible to ignore: too big, too honest, too guileless to dismiss. Seeing him look at her that way - like she was _his answer_ \- tripped her up and made her as awkward as she’d ever been in her life. He made her messy as hell. 

“Dance with me?” 

She quirked an eyebrow at him as rain streamed down both of them. It had flattened his hair, misted his glasses, and made his shirt cling to him in stark creases; he glistened everywhere and it was getting a little too cool to be comfortable anymore. They should get out of the storm… And then that earnest, huge stare turned warm and enchanted, both like a boy and a man simultaneously transformed by delight. He grinned, throat moving when he laughed, and then he lifted her, twirling them both until he planted her on the ground again with a splash. He clasped her hands, whispered something like “watch your feet”, and then they were off, circling in the increasing downpour as he hummed something horribly out of tune.

\----

Everyone hustled into the conference room like their feet were on fire and Prentiss sent out a silent thanks to all of them that they were so committed even on a Sunday evening. She nodded and then waited for a pale, grim-faced Garcia to join them before getting down to it.

“Thanks for coming in on short notice,” she began. “I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t urgent.”

The team settled and they all slid behind their defensive masks, waiting. Reid was next to J.J. and they were both staring with nearly identical looks of measured trepidation.

“It’s about Scratch,” she continued, all business because that’s the only way she could function. “He’s resurfaced and this time he isn’t bothering to be coy about it. He called the Baltimore field office earlier today and made an unspecified threat.”

“Unspecified how?” J.J. asked.

“He said that time was running out and that he hoped the BAU was prepared. The field office recorded the call.” Prentiss turned to Garcia and nodded. Garcia loaded the audio file and played the brief statement as the team leaned close around the table and focused on the language.

“His tone is calm, almost lazy,” Alvez commented.

“That’s part of his signature,” Reid said.

“The language is purposefully vague,” Lewis added. “Just dangerous enough to be taken seriously but with no specifics to act upon.”

“Except one,” Garcia interrupted and then looked like she was going to tell them that she’d killed their pets. “The Baltimore tech team traced the call to a cell phone here in D.C. And it’s still on.”

The table took a terrible, silent beat.

“Well, _that’s_ a trap,” Walker mumbled.

“Yes,” Prentiss frowned. “But it’s one we can’t ignore no matter how obvious it is. And if he’s in our backyard he’s gotten way too comfortable in his freedom. I don’t need to remind you that we haven’t had a workable lead in this case in nearly a year. Clearly this message is meant to prompt us. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he’s been busy with crimes we haven’t linked to him yet. Or maybe this is a move in his game plan that we don’t have a clue about. But I’m tired of being behind this guy. If it’s a trap, so be it, but it is also communication and _that_ we can work with.”

Prentiss looked around the table and saw cautious nods and scowls. She was asking them to take a serious risk, but none of them questioned it: that was the kind of faith they had in one another. 

“When Garcia flagged this, I called both Morgan and Rossi as well as the Marshal Service. Our people are fine, and Hotch’s protective detail has been notified. Whatever Scratch’s plan is, it thankfully doesn’t involve those of us not in this room. Garcia’s been tracking the cell signal and it is moving in a circle around a four block area in Alexandria. There are a few abandoned properties in the grid so tac teams are surveilling them as we speak. If and when they get something to act upon, we’re on, so we’re here on standby until further notice.”

“But, isn’t this just too easy?” J.J. asked, cocking her head like she was thinking out loud. “If we’re agreed it’s a trap, we can’t just sit around and wait for him to issue us an invitation to it.”

“We won’t, J.J. I want you and Garcia to do a tri-state search for missing persons that fall into Scratch’s victim profile in the past year. If he’s chosen a new avatar, we need to know who it is.” She turned to Walker and Alvez. “You two are going to review the mechanics of his past attacks. We need a tactical plan to cover our asses when we get him boxed in. Work with Reid about how to neutralize the chemical component in situ.”

Walker and Alvez nodded, Reid just thinned his mouth to a tight line as he started considering options. Prentiss zeroed in on Lewis next.

“Tara, I want you to go back over every call, every interview, every stitch of our personality profile on Scratch. I want you to look for things we might have missed that time might show us now. Any new edge is an advantage here.”

“Got it, Boss,” Tara said and for once Prentiss didn’t tense at the title.

Prentiss laid her palms on the conference table and tried to pretend she’d given them something other than busywork to keep their minds and eyes from watching the clock. “All right, guys, that’s it. Let’s get on with it.”

The team shuffled out into the bullpen with their tasks and an air of anticipation that walked the edge between excitement and dread. Prentiss thought that if you had to sum up a career in the BAU, that feeling would be an accurate snapshot of it. Sometimes she wondered how Hotch and Rossi had lasted as long as they did. And then she thought about her and Reid and J.J. - how they were _still_ there, still battling…

“So, we’re waiting.” J.J. slid up beside her in the doorway of the conference room.

“Yeah,” Prentiss sighed. She wasn’t going to mince words about it when it was just the two of them. “It feels like all we ever do with this asshole is wait. I want him _gone_ , Jen. I want to take him down so badly, I think I’d do just about anything to get him.”

“Careful…” J.J. warned softly, and it was all she needed to say. Prentiss had made choices like that in the past - terrible, costly choices - and they were part of the reason why she doubted her ability to lead. Now, she had lives other than her own in the mix, and her propensity for dangerous, rogue moves couldn’t be allowed to take over her judgment. And no doubt, once Scratch got a handle on that particular character flaw, he’d use it mercilessly against her.

“It’s okay, J.J.” Prentiss murmured back, eyes skimming her team and landing on Reid’s tangled head bent over his desk as he concentrated. “I know what’s at risk here.”

“I hope so,” J.J. said as she slipped a hand along Prentiss’s arm and then walked away to find Garcia.

Prentiss stood silently and watched the bullpen a moment longer before turning to walk to her office and wait for the call.

\----

The team huddled behind an unmarked van that sadly screamed POLICE VEHICLE up the street from an abandoned rooming house at the end of a cul de sac in the shittier part of Alexandria. Everything about the scene said _‘this is the end’_ from the sad neglect of the building to the actual geography, and they were all painfully aware of that. They were tensely shifting their weapons, eyes flicking from her to the established perimeter, and then the dark house down the street. Prentiss had made the call: only BAU would breach the location because they were the ones most familiar with Scratch’s tactics. It was questionable and the SWAT commander had given her an earful about it, but she dug her heels in even as she saw doubts flicker over her team before they could hide them. They were the most knowledgeable, but tactically weak despite Walker and Alvez’s extensive weapons training. She’d weighed the risk of sending new possible targets in to nab Scratch, and made her choice, but she knew no matter what the outcome it would be scrutinized. But she couldn’t help it - she had to go with her gut.

“Okay, here are the rules: maintain radio contact at all times, keep your partner in visual range no matter what, no lone wolf bullshit. Are we clear?”

Everyone nodded.

“If you find Scratch and he makes any kind of move - any at all - he’s considered armed whether it’s obvious or not. You have permission to use lethal force. Negotiation is not a priority here unless he has a hostage.”

Five sets of eyes stared back at her, but none of them were confused.

“All right,” she nodded. “Masks on.”

They all placed their oxygen supply over their noses and mouths, and then broke as one from behind the van and jogged down the street towards the darkened rooming house. Setting up just beyond the lawn of the building, Prentiss whispered partner pairings and instructions through the mic in her mask. Hushed answers of _‘Copy’_ came back to her through her earpiece. Before Reid and J.J. loped around to the rear of the building, Reid looked back at Prentiss for an instant - just a minute hesitation and a glance that could’ve meant anything. Then he jutted his chin at her. She jutted hers back, choking down the panic at sending him into this, and then he was gone.

“You okay?” Lewis asked at her side in a cautious way. She’d probably seen something in that exchange.

“Let’s do this,” she mumbled, and they crept like shadows into the building.

The place was damp, depressing, and thoroughly uninhabitable. _Why do psychos always choose to hide in caves?_ , her mind burped without permission. _At least a few of them should be evolved enough to have higher standards…_

Whispers of _‘Clear’_ hissed in her ear from different voices as her team swept through the building. There were a lot of rooms - it would take some time - but each confirmation of safety bolstered her even if it meant that Scratch might have slipped from their grasp again. She and Lewis moved quickly and efficiently, acting like one entity rather than two agents, and that too gave Prentiss confidence. Her pulse throbbed quick and heavy in her throat and her whole body was coiled, but her faith in her people was justified and every tandem sweep she and Lewis made added to a dark excitement that pooled at the center of her. Every step felt like a promise: _we’re coming for you, Scratch…_

 _“Clear.”_ Walker.

 _“Clear.”_ J.J.

 _“Clear.”_ Lewis.

 _“Clear.”_ Alvez.

 _“Cle-”_ J.J.’s voice cut out and there was a static crack as if she’d dropped her mic. Prentiss and Lewis stopped at once.

“J.J.,” she hissed into her mask. “J.J. report.”

Nothing.

 _“J.J.!”_ That was Reid, and Prentiss’s stomach was suddenly in her throat. Before she could call to him there was a muffled grunt followed by panicked breathing, and then the sound of muted wrestling.

“Reid!” She tried to keep her voice low. Lewis grabbed her arm with her free hand and when Prentiss turned, her eyes were wide over her mask. The wrestling sound continued and then there was a yelp and a _‘No!’_ and finally Reid’s voice, tight and frantic, _‘Two fourteen!’_ She and Lewis ran to the stairs that would lead them to the second floor.

“Walker, Alvez, room two fourteen!” she barked and climbed the stairs two at a time.

She and Lewis got there first, the door open in a perverse welcome as they butted up hard against the doorframe. Prentiss peeked in as Lewis covered her and the first thing she saw was J.J. in a heap on the floor, bleeding from a gash in her hairline and her mask gone. Her chest squeezed and would have frozen her where she stood if the adrenaline hadn’t kicked in at the same time. She held her breath and ducked her head quickly into the doorway to get a snapshot of the room before finding the cover of the doorframe again. Reid was sitting in the opposite corner of the tiny room facing the doorway. Her brief glimpse told her he was unrestrained but lax in the grip of a man stooped behind him whispering in his ear.

“Reid?” she called out under her mask just as Walker and Alvez arrived as back up.

“Come in, Agent,” Scratch’s voice lilted congenially. “You can all come in. No need for the masks this time, I promise.”

Prentiss held up her hand to the others and shook her head. She wouldn’t risk them when there was no tactical advantage to them piling into a cramped room with only one exit. Alvez’s eyebrows told her how much he objected, and Lewis didn’t look too happy about it either, but Walker just nodded.

“My call, my risk,” she whispered to them. “Stay out here unless I say otherwise.”

She stepped into the center of the doorway before anyone could object, gun drawn but hanging at her side, and mask still firmly in place. Reid watched her in horror, as if he wanted to recoil, but his body didn’t move; he was just sagged like a broken toy against Scratch who grinned over his shoulder. Reid’s mask was gone and one of his shirtsleeves was torn revealing a long expanse of his inner arm as he slouched. And he was still armed. Prentiss didn’t understand what her eyes were telling her, and then they quickly flicked to J.J. on the floor - her sides moved shallowly under her Kevlar vest. _Good._ Then she focused on Scratch again.

“Hello, Chief Prentiss. We haven’t had the pleasure yet. I was eager to meet Aaron’s replacement.” His eyes sized her up the way so many men had over the years, and she welcomed the flash of anger that produced. “I said you could take the mask off. The HVAC system in this building probably hasn’t worked in a decade, and your team is too familiar with my gas technique anyway.”

She slowly pulled her mask down to hang around her neck. Reid’s expression moved from horrified to full-blown terror as she did it. His mouth dropped open and his eyes were rimmed with white, the pupils huge.

“Reid?” she tried, but Scratch distracted her by giggling and snuggling closer to him.

“He’s a little preoccupied at the moment. I made a special treat with him in mind.”

“What did you give him?” she growled and flexed her fingers around her gun. Reid’s eyes flicked to the movement and he nearly convulsed in Scratch’s arms. Scratch soothed him, murmuring something in his ear that made Reid close his mouth and color drain from his face. She panicked - it was instantaneous and total. _Don’t touch him…. Don’t fucking touch him!_ “What do you want, Peter?”

“Peter?” Scratch’s gaze narrowed. “Are we on a first name basis, Emily?”

“What do you want?” she reiterated crisply.

“Oh, how disappointing. Aaron was never so tedious. But at least you’re pretty, dear, and you try. That’s what counts, or so I’m told…”

_Don’t get drawn in by misogyny. He’s just trying to find a way into you…_

“Why now? Why are you doing this? What is the point?”

“Because I can!” he yelled and then tried to shrug the flash of emotion off. Reid twitched in his grip. Scratch let loose an unhinged giggle. “You were always so busy looking for _a reason_. Aaron was the same way so at least you’ve lived up to his standards in that regard.” 

He nestled his cheek against Reid’s neck, like they were best friends and used to the intimacy. Reid twitched again but otherwise didn’t move, and Prentiss suddenly had a feeling that Scratch knew all about Reid’s hang-ups. “I’ll let you in on a secret that none of you profilers have ever managed to grasp: no matter what the surface motivations are, no matter what the trigger, psychopaths do what they do simply because they can. When you don’t believe in anything, Emily, and you aren’t afraid, it’s the only reason that matters.”

“So, baiting Hotch, releasing those prisoners, trying to frame him, going after his family, all of this…” Prentiss gestured to the room.

“I wanted to see if I could,” Scratch shrugged and grinned. “You caught my eye so I indulged you for a while. But now I’m tired of it. I bested Aaron, and the old one and the tough one are gone… You’re not adequate enough to challenge me, no matter how impressed Interpol was by you. And you won’t be able to sleep your way out of this one, love…”

Scratch pronounced the last sentence with a distinct Irish lilt, and she could almost feel him poking at her edges trying to find a way under her defenses.

“That’s when I remembered him,” Scratch snuggled into Reid again. “As fractured as your precious unit is, as long as Dr. Reid here is in tact, so are the others. He’s like your mascot, or some orphaned puppy you took in, all piss-soaked and damaged, but adorable as hell.”

Prentiss’s heart stopped - literally stopped - and the pain seared across her chest until it thudded to life again with a stab that was almost worse than the pain that preceded it. Scratch just nodded like it was all old news to him.

“I know, and it’s so predictable, but that’s not really my fault, is it? That’s what love is: weakness. So, I’ll rip him apart and when that’s over, the rest of you will be done as well. It’s both expedient and poetic. _That’s_ what I want, darling - to end all of you, and then every killer with a newsfeed on their smartphone will know that one of them can take down the FBI, that there are no limits but the ones we place on ourselves. It’ll be a PR nightmare for you, Emily - all those freaks out there _doing whatever they want…_ ”

She blinked and waited to feel something other than panic. Maybe she should’ve handed this off to Walker, maybe he should’ve been facing down Reid’s death with his analytical gaze rather than her terrified one… Then her questionable gut made her raise her gun.

“You won’t live to enjoy it,” she said quietly, and she could distantly hear shuffling beyond the doorframe. Scratch laughed and Reid twitched violently in his arms. He soothed him again with almost gentle strokes of his hands.

“Living is beside the point. It always has been,” he chuckled. Reid thrashed again, and it was as if his paralysis was wearing off. “Oh… he’s almost ready…”

“What did you give him?”

“I had fun with that. It’s a combination of my original formula, but once I found out that he has a problem with needles…” Scratch paused meaningfully. _Oh shit._ “I added a little of his favorite to the mix. It made him pliable but offset the effectiveness of the hallucinogens for a bit. But he seems to be coming around now.” Scratch placed his lips next to Reid’s ear. “Hey, Spencer, are you with us? Do you see who’s here?”

Reid licked his lips slowly, still looking terrified. “Her…”

“I know,” Scratch whispered. “She found you. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t stop her from killing your friend…”

 _What?_ Scratch looked over a J.J. and then directed Reid’s gaze by turning his chin. “See?”

“J.J.” he gasped and then a sob ripped from him. “No…”

“Reid,” Prentiss called out. “Reid, look at her. She’s breathing… she’s not dead.”

Reid’s face whipped back to look at her and just focused on her gun. “No…” he moaned again.

“She’s here to kill you,” Scratch continued. “She can’t leave a witness, you know that…”

“Reid, look at me! It’s Emily… you know me… I’d never hurt J.J.”

“You’ve always been a problem for her. She’s always had to look after you. Imagine how much she resents that? She’s so ambitious… she got Aaron out of the way but now you’re in her path…”

“You’re not a problem, Reid. You’re my friend… we’ve always been friends from the very first day. Remember when we met?”

“She’s not that woman,” Scratch cooed. “Can’t you see it? She’s different now. She’ll cut through anything to get what she wants. She’ll cut through you…”

“Shut up, Peter,” Prentiss took a bead on Scratch’s head next to Reid’s face. It was a serious risk, the kind of play that had every chance of going wrong. “Reid, that’s Peter Lewis inside your head. You’re listening to _Peter fucking Lewis…_ ”

“Go ahead, pretty, take the shot. See what happens,” Scratch smiled, and Prentiss’s finger twitched. “Look at her, Spencer. She’s a monster. Do you see? Underneath… she’s something dangerous and she won’t stop…”

“Peter…”

“She won’t stop… not unless you stop her.”

“ _Peter…_ ”

“Yes,” Reid breathed, a tear escaping and skimming quickly down his face as he fumbled with his holster.

“That’s it, Spencer. You can end this right now. She killed your friend.”

“She’s not dead!” Prentiss shouted.

“Oh, isn’t she?” Scratch grinned and then wrapped his hand around Reid’s on his .38, directing it to the side and aiming at J.J.’s head.

She didn’t even think, she just pulled the trigger. Scratch’s head snapped back, dead before he hit the floor, and he slumped behind Reid. It made Reid lose his balance without the added support. She took two steps into the room before Reid roared, “NO!” and turned his gun back on Prentiss. She heard footsteps behind her and yelled, “Get out! Everyone out, now!”

“Emily-” Alvez barked.

“Get out! He’s not lucid!”

“You killed Jen!” Reid bellowed, his hands shaking as he aimed for her heart. That seemed to be enough to convince them, and she heard feet retreating and Walker’s voice calling for back up and EMS to be on stand-by at the building perimeter. Prentiss raised one hand and let her gun dangle from the other, never taking her eyes from Reid’s devastated gaze. He was choking back wet sounds and his cheeks shined in the dimness.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck…_

“Spencer,” she hushed and slowly crouched to the floor, gently placing her gun on the ground in front of her as he followed her with his unmissable aim. “It’s Emily. I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve put down my gun, see?”

“J-Jen…” he croaked, eyes wild.

“She’s okay, just unconscious. Jen’s my friend. So are you. I love you both. It’s Emily… I’m Emily.”

His face darkened and the horror changed to something pitiless. “You’re not Emily,” he gritted. “You look like her, but you’re not…” He cocked the hammer back on his .38.

Prentiss swallowed hard and wondered if this was how her life ended: at the hands of a friend she failed to protect. If he pulled the trigger, what would become of him then?

“Spence, please,” she whispered. “Who else would I be? Think about it.”

“You’re not Emily!” he yelled, the panic back again. “What have you done with her? Tell me what you’ve done to her!”

She curled closer to the floor on her knees, trying to get as small and non-threatening as possible. When she spoke again, her voice was wet, a rasping plea that made her throat ache. “Please, Spence… _please_. It’s me. It’s your Emily. Remember the night we danced in the rain? Remember I said I’d always fight beside you? Always…”

He sobbed again and his expression collapsed into unknowable grief. His gun shook violently in his hands. “No… bring her back… I want her back, please…”

“I’m right here. God, Spence, I’m right here with you… listen to my voice… you know me. You’d know if I was lying. I’m here… fighting beside you, where I belong…”

His expression changed, as if someone had just switched on a light. His eyebrows rose, his mouth dropped open and down, and she had no idea what he was thinking in that moment. 

“Trust yourself. Trust me,” she continued softly, not twitching a muscle. “I’d never let you do something like this alone. It’s my job to look after you, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” he said distantly, like he was talking to a memory. “She was good that way. She never let me down.”

“Spence, I’m here,” she said more firmly, feeling something shift in him. “Look at me.”

He did but he wasn’t really there anymore. There was a weird vacancy behind his gaze now. “I was never any good for her…”

“Spencer…” Her gut clenched. Her legs cramped as her muscles coiled to the point of pain.

“She was everything, you know,” he gasped and for a split second everything in that room stood still. “But it was selfish. I’m just a problem she never needed.”

He turned the gun and pointed it under his chin faster than she could fathom. “Tell her how sorry I was.”

“ _NO!_ ”

She leapt across the space between them and reached out as the shot became the whole world. The movement, the noise, the burning all seemed to happen simultaneously, and then there was nothing black and a buzz of tinnitus that seemed to exist between her ears. She blinked and she was on top of him. There was blood on his face and a pool of it under him. A piercing cry broke through the buzz in her head, and a moment later she realized that she could hear it because it was her voice.

“SPENCER!”

She pushed up off his body and ran her hands across his face. They came away bloody and then she grasped at his neck for a pulse. His head lolled to the side and he made a grunting noise. There were angry, powder burns along his jaw and bloody dripping from his hair. She splayed her fingers into the tangles until she saw the gash - just a surface wound - and then she reared back in shock. She blinked and thought she’d throw up, her pulse choking gasps out of her that weren’t enough to survive on. Her vision started to get spotty at the corners of her eyes. He grunted again, eyes still closed, and flopped in the blood pool on the floor. It was only then her brain recognized it as Scratch’s blood.

“Fuck!” she yelled into the buzz of her tinnitus and then sagged away from him, grappling at her mask with numb, bloodied fingers. “Suspect down. Agents down. EMS requested. Site secure, SWAT stand down.” 

She mumbled it into the mask and hoped the mic caught it. No doubt she was actually shouting. Then she looked around and the room swam. She thudded back against the floor, knocking her head soundly in the process, and just focused on fucking _breathing._ Fingers traced her face and when she opened her eyes, J.J. was staring at her groggily through her own blood as she pulled herself close across the floor. Her mouth moved but all Prentiss heard was the buzz, and then J.J. mouthed ‘Spencer’. Prentiss nodded and gave her a thumbs up sign, and then both women sighed and sagged down again. It felt like forever before EMS set foot in the room.

 

An hour passed and Prentiss couldn’t account for it if her life depended on it. And yet, she’d managed to order crime scene techs around, have a discussion with a pissed off SWAT commander, and gave the rest of the team their marching orders. Shock could be a marvelous thing on occasion. By the time she made it over to the EMS vehicles, it felt like she’d been onsite for a year. Reid was sitting on the lip of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket and stained brown with Peter Lewis’s blood. He had a thousand yard stare and was half-heartedly trying to wave off a medic who was attending him.

“Why is he still here?” Prentiss asked as she walked up, and his eyes lifted when he heard her voice. They were listless and dull.

“He’s refusing treatment,” the medic complained. “We gave him a shot of NARCAN and patched up the skull laceration but he needs to be admitted to hospital.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“You are _not fine,_ ” she growled, and he looked at her again. This time her tone and sharp expression woke him a little. “The trip isn’t optional, Spencer.”

She placed a hand along his shoulder and it was the first time she noticed it was bandaged. _You have the outline of his gun barrel burned into your skin,_ her brain declared, and then she lifted it away to stare at it. His eyes followed her hand as well, and slowly the significance sunk in.

“Oh…” he choked out.

“It’ll be okay,” she murmured. Then his eyes moved to her face. He looked at her like she was a ghost. The burn up his jaw seemed to blot out every other feature for a moment. She hoped to hell his vacant expression was the aftereffects of the drugs leaving his system. “J.J. went and you’re going too. No arguments.”

He swallowed like he’d never done it before, and then he nodded, eyes glazing over again and slipping away. “All right.” The medic made a triumphant sigh next to him, and he shuffled about as he tried to convince his body to heft itself into the ambulance.

“I can come with you,” she offered softly, worried about his stillness. He shook his head and allowed the medic to lay him back on a stretcher.

“You’re needed here. There’s nothing you can do for me anyway.”

His tone was flat and there was a finality to it that made her reach for him, grasping his arm in her bandaged hand with a small meep of pain.

“It’ll be okay,” she reiterated because they weren’t alone and that bothered her. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Don’t,” he murmured, and she raised her eyebrows. “I’ll… need some time.”

“Of course. That won’t be a problem.”

“I mean time from everything, Emily.” He wasn’t mincing words.

“If that’s what you want,” she said numbly after a moment.

“It’s not you.” He twisted his arm under her hand and wiggled until he could lightly outline her fingers with his, careful to be gentle over the bandage. “I just need time to be still and quiet. To regroup.”

“O-okay, Spence.”

He gave her a thin smile from where he lay on the stretcher with the medic fussing around him. “I’ll text you later. Keep you in the loop, okay?”

“That would be helpful, thank you.” She retrieved her hand.

“Sure thing, Boss.” He tried his best to make it light and gave her a wink to help that along. Somehow it had the opposite effect, making her stomach heave as she watched him get strapped in and then the medic close the door and drive away. The feeling didn’t subside even after the ambulance turned the corner out of sight and she stood there staring after it for a minute as the scene continued to pulse around her. In the end, she had to get on with things. She swallowed down her churning guts and the sting of her burning hand, and headed back into the fray for an update. She was the boss - it was what she did, even as her mind snapped out, _I wish they’d figure out that I’m making it up as I go._

\----

**October 5  
Prentiss: How are you doing? I haven’t heard from you in a few days. I’m not pushing - just want to know if you need anything.**

**October 7  
Prentiss: Could you send me a text or a note to let me know that you haven’t been crushed by a bookcase at your place or something? I’d appreciate it ;)**

**October 10  
Prentiss: Spence, I’m worried now. Please call me.**

 

She looked at her phone and thought about sending another message, another voicemail, and then thought about how ineffective that would be. He was doing it again: shutting her out. And she sighed when she considered that this might not be something that he’d ever be able to change about himself no matter how close they got. If that were true, she’d have to make a decision about him because she wasn’t sure that she could live contentedly on the _outside_ of Spencer Reid’s life.

The team filtered into the conference room for their update meeting with harried looks and mugs of coffee, all carefully skirting the empty chair at the table as if someone were already sitting in it. They were acting like he was coming back, but she wasn’t so sure. She looked up and saw J.J. staring at her, a gentle sadness just flavoring the edges of her expression. Prentiss nodded to her - an ‘I understand that feeling’ sort of nod - and J.J. smiled before she went back to her case notes. Prentiss straightened in her seat, pocketed her phone and her worry, and then started the meeting.

\----

She got home late, as usual, and contemplated the depressing lack of contents in her fridge. It looked like it might be another evening of leftover thai food, sriracha sauce, and baby gherkins if she didn’t break down and order something in. A middle-aged woman and she was still living like a college student… She felt as if her empty fridge was silently condemning her life choices. _You’re alone. When it really comes down to it, who counts on you?_ She sighed tiredly, and then her phone rang on the counter. When she saw the number, she snatched it up quickly.

“Hey, there you are,” she huffed with too much forced cheerfulness. “I was _this close_ to putting out a bolo for you…”

There was silence on the other end for almost ten seconds, and in that time, her pulse leapt from mildly anxious to full-blown panicked.

“Emily…” he said eventually, but it was distant and oddly hollow.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?”

Another long gap happened and she found herself clutching the phone until her fingers cramped. He took a wet, rough breath directly into the phone. “I… I need help. Would you… come here? I need…”

He didn’t finish his thought, instead just breathing across the line in a way that sounded as if it hurt. She was suddenly nauseated, terrified, and once again in caretaking mode as she grabbed her bag and keys running for her front door. An unemotional voice inside her head told her that she couldn’t go on like this - waiting for the next crisis, the next hurt, and putting her needs aside in order to see to his. Something had to give, and it increasingly felt like it would be her, and what she’d ‘give’ was giving up on this thing with Reid.

“I’m coming,” she murmured, shaking away the poisonous doubts for the moment. “Spence, are you sick or hurt? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“How soon can you be here?” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been emotional before he’d called her and was trying to shore himself up for her sake. The dumbass.

“Twenty minutes.” She was running down the hall towards the elevators. She’d be at her car in under a minute.

“Okay… okay, that’s good. I can handle that. Thank you, Emily.”

“Handle what, Spence?” But he was already gone and there was nothing but the beeping disconnection in her ear, the sickly twist in her gut, and her rumbled cursing as she tried to convince the elevator to move faster to the parking garage.

Exactly nineteen and a half minutes later she was pounding her fist on his front door. It took him too long to answer. His place was small and he spent most of his life existing on that damned worn sofa of his that was within a few strides of the front entrance. She pounded two more times and she may have started saying loud, unladylike things to the wooden barrier as well before he opened it and stepped aside wordlessly, refusing to meet her eyes. She took him in for a split second before walking through: he was unshaven and slovenly, his posture stooped in the way he got when he was trying to hide his height, to disappear from notice. But most telling were his clothes. He was in old jeans, a t-shirt, and a generic, zip-up sweatshirt that screamed anonymity. It wasn’t him at all. As she walked past him, the smell of stale booze in his place was inescapable. He closed the door and turned to face her, but his eyes were trained on his ratty sneakers, not her. He waited, like he was expecting her to hit him.

“What’s going on, Spencer?” she asked, her voice quiet but still sounding monstrous in the silent guilt of his apartment.

He bit his lip and then took a lurching step forward. As he walked he seemed to weave but was trying to hide it. He brushed past her shoulder and she smelled the booze again more strongly, then he circled around to his sofa and asked her to follow with a curled finger.

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” he whispered, still not looking at her, which she was finding more frightening than insulting at this point. “But that’s not what I need help with. Or maybe it is… I dunno…”

She followed him until she was next to him between his couch and the coffee table. He pointed towards it.

“That’s what I need help with,” he said wetly.

She looked to the table and saw a small bottle of clear liquid, an elastic tourniquet, and a few disposable needles still in their sterile packaging. Next to that was a half empty bottle of bourbon and a grimy tumbler. There were dried watermarks on the table top from the glass, as well as newer, half-dried ones. He’d been at this for a while. Her stomach heaved dangerously and she swallowed back a flash of bile with extreme effort. _You can’t lose it now. You have to fix this - fix him. One more time._

“Spencer, look at me,” she said. Then she made her voice harder when he didn’t respond. “ _Look_ at me.”

He did. His eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. Perhaps he’d been crying, or maybe he was just that wrecked. He was sallow, the dark circles around his eyes now garishly obvious, and he probably hadn’t shaved in a week. His hair was stringy and gross so she decided that he hadn’t showered in that long either. His pupils were huge. 

Her heart stuttered feebly in her chest.

“How much have you taken?”

“None,” he whispered as he stared at her, shaking his head.

Prentiss felt her expression harden while he watched. “Don’t lie to me. You’re fucked up right now.”

“On booze. That’s it, I swear,” he hurried as panic flitted across his features, the first sign of anything active in him at all. “I’m completely hammered… have been since I went on leave. I c-can’t… I see _things_ and I…”

He shook his head violently and nearly toppled himself onto the couch with the effort. She moved to grab him but he righted himself on his own.

“I-I only went out and scored today,” he continued in a voice that was half whisper and half sob, his eyes riveted to the small vial sitting on the coffee table. “Been sitting here for hours, drinking, trying to convince myself to pick up the needle, or to throw it away…”

Her chest constricted with a sense of overwhelming loss that left her stunned and breathless. It had been a week and she’d been completely clueless. He hadn’t reached out for her until he’d almost tripped into disaster. Maybe his isolation was something she just couldn’t breach. Maybe he’d always be resolutely alone wherever he was and whomever he was with. She couldn’t fix this because he wouldn’t let her, and maybe they were always doomed to fail because she couldn’t shake the idea that fixing him was her job and not his.

She willed herself to compartmentalize like a pro and let her turmoil simmer quietly in the background where it could inflict the least damage. “Why am I here, Spencer?”

His eyes snapped to hers again, this time with a mix of horror and desperation. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for his answer. She wasn’t going to wipe his ass in this shitty situation he’d created like he was a helpless toddler.

“Answer me, Spence, or I’ll walk right out of here without a backwards glance. What do you want from me? Because I am _not_ gonna wrestle your drugs away from you like you’re some sort of naughty child. I’m not relieving you of your agency or responsibility in this. Do you hear me?”

He nodded slowly, and then to her surprise and heartbreak, he smiled at her as a tear escaped him and streaked down his cheek. “You were the right person to call. I should’ve done it sooner…”

“ _Spencer_ …” She tried to sound irritated to cover up how he’d undone her with just a look and a heartwrenching smile.

“I want you to throw it away. And then… I want you to take me here.” He fumbled for something in his jeans pocket and then shakily held out a wrinkled scrap of paper with a Maryland address and phone number on it.

“What’s there?” She focused hard on the paper, trying to blink away the blurriness. 

“Rehab,” he said quietly and her eyes shot up to his again. “It’s a good place. I looked into it after Mom died, but… I chickened out.”

“Were you… back then?” He’d told her he wasn’t, but perhaps he lied.

He shook his head, his limp hair falling into his eyes. “No, I wasn’t using.”

“Well, then,” she gulped obviously and he noticed. “Why? Why go now if you haven’t shot up? Is it the drinking?”

“Emily,” he smiled sadly again. “Addiction isn’t about the physical need. I mean… it is when you’re using, but when you kick it… addiction lives in the mind. It’s about neural pathways being rewritten to tell you that relief, joy, oblivion can be realized in this destructive way. I’m being destructive again. Rehab tries to get you to reset that thinking. At least that’s what I’m given to understand… I’ve never been, so…”

It struck her all at once that he’d detoxed on his own the first time. He’d mentioned it to her years later citing that he’d been worried about being tossed out of the FBI if he’d gone to a traditional recovery center. It spoke to both his tremendous will as well as his determination to handle everything alone, no matter how hard it was. These were his greatest and worst attributes. She didn’t know what to think about the fact that now - when he _hadn’t_ slipped back into drug abuse - he didn’t trust his will and was finally asking for help.

“Why did you chicken out?” she asked breathlessly, almost afraid of what he’d say next.

“I’ll tell you… I will, but… could you get rid of _that_ first?” He pointed to the vial of Dilaudid without looking at it. “It’s almost impossible for me to concentrate on anything else…”

“Of course,” Emily stumbled forward, feeling stupid, and quickly collected up his fix. She moved to his kitchen, found a towel and wrapped the vial in it before smashing it in the sink and watching the liquid pour away. Then she threw it, the towel, and the rest of his gear in the trash, tying the bag to be disposed of when they left. 

After all of that she strode back into his living room and found him flopped onto the sofa like someone had cut his strings, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed forward. She gently lowered herself to sit next to him and waited. His eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth; she almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep sitting upright.

“Thank you,” he murmured and then flicked his eyes open to stare at nothing in particular.

“Sure,” she mumbled, not knowing what else to say. She had no idea how to handle this version of him. Suddenly, her practicality streak rose to the surface. “Should I call the rehab place before we go?”

He took his time before answering and when he did it was in a monotone. “Yes, please. I placed a deposit some time ago for one of their programs. Hopefully that’s still valid.”

She had _no clue_ how to respond to that so she just pulled out her phone instead and acted like SSAC Prentiss as she dialed the number from the crumpled paper and spoke to someone who seemed altogether far too professional for that hour of the evening. When Prentiss ended the call, her hand was shaking.

“It’s too late to go tonight,” she murmured. “But they can take you first thing tomorrow morning. They still have your deposit on file and all the info you sent them… they said it would be no problem.”

He didn’t react at all.

“If there are any billing issues, I’ll take care of it, Spence,” she added, and he nodded but didn’t look at her. She felt completely and utterly alone sitting next to someone she loved who was actually a husk of a person she used to know. She didn’t think she’d ever get him back now - she’d tried her best, but this was just how they ended.

“Please talk to me,” she gasped and couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop how grief-soaked and final it sounded. He turned slowly until he faced her, his expression broken. He reached for her hand and curled his fingers through hers. They were cold and clammy, so unlike him, but she gripped them tightly. His other hand rose hesitantly and then pulled a lock of her hair away from her face to tuck it gently behind one ear.

“I’m sorry I did this,” he whispered as his finger skimmed down the line of her face. “I thought I could handle it… thought I had everything together after the mess I made when Mom died. But I guess I didn’t, and now I’ve dragged you down into it too. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling after Scratch?” She grabbed that roving finger and held it too intensely, now angry and terrified in equal parts. “I thought we were _past this_ , Spencer. I thought we agreed to let each other in.”

“I tried to kill you,” he choked.

“Christ, Spencer, c’mon! That’s Scratch’s M.O. You know that - it wasn’t you!”

“I wanted to kill myself.” Another tear rolled down his face though his voice stayed even.

She stopped dead in her tracks at that. Sure, he’d tried to shoot himself, but that was as false as his attempt to shoot her. Right?

“The drinking? Going out today to score? That’s just another way to make that happen,” he said.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She tried again, clutching him close by his trapped hands. “ _Why?_ What have I missed?”

“Scratch almost convinced me to pull the trigger on you. If I had, it would’ve been the end of me - I’d never recover from that.” He swallowed and then cleared his throat roughly for good measure. His pallor got even worse and she wondered if he was going to throw up. “When I close my eyes… he’s there, inside my head, and I don’t know what to do, how to fight that. Not without drugs, anyway.”

His fingers tightened in hers until her hands hurt.

“This could be the end of me, Emily. Mentally. Professionally. You’ve been propping me up, cleaning up after me for too long, and that means our relationship has never been fair. I’ve been a stressor for you far more often than I’ve been a support since you came back to D.C., and I never wanted it to be that way. I’ve only wanted to love you. I can’t keep doing this… being your emotional liability… I just want to _stop screwing up_ … maybe w-we’re not meant to-”

“Don’t,” she shushed him as she pressed herself until she was almost on top of him. Anything to make him stop saying the one thing he’d never be able to take back. “You’re drunk and fucked up and emotionally strung out… please don’t say something you might not be able to walk back, Spence. _Please._ I really can’t handle blowing everything up tonight.”

“Okay,” he gulped wetly into her cheek, smelling of booze and stale, exhausted man. “Okay… sorry. You’re right… and you’re the responsible adult here. I should listen to you.”

Responsibility, leadership, duty. She laughed hollowly at his statement and hated how true it was. At that moment she hated all of her responsibilities and wanted to hunt down Aaron Hotchner to toss the unholy mess back into his lap where it damn well belonged. Would she ever be allowed to put herself first again? Had she and Reid ever had a realistic chance based on this dynamic? Maybe what he wanted all along was someone to look after him the way Diana never could, and maybe she’d wanted to be similarly cared for as a shelter from her professional responsibilities. The idea seemed laughable now sitting on his sagging couch and talking about all the ways they were broken. She growled at herself, growled at Reid, growled at the whole, unfair universe.

“This isn’t going to be the end of you,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Maybe it should be.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It doesn’t suit you.”

“No, I mean… I could always say that I’m going to this treatment center for exhaustion or emotional counseling… the Bureau would buy that after Scratch. But maybe I shouldn’t hide this. Maybe… somehow… _it’s time._ ” His voice held this distant sort of awe that she had to lean back in order to gage for herself. It was hard to know how to take him while he was this inebriated and unhinged.

“What are you talking about? Time for what? If you tell the Bureau you checked into rehab for drug addiction they’ll have no choice but to fire you. You know the policy.”

“Maybe this is the excuse I need to leave the FBI, Emily. Time to try something new.” He seemed completely serious. And strangely hopeful.

“You’re not done making a difference, Spencer Reid!” She grabbed his jaw to focus his attention on her and her panic, not some distant, soft-edged future he was imagining. He took his time looking at her, and eventually he smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I know I’m not done making a difference. But maybe I’m done making a difference at the Bureau.”

“This is not a decision you are making while marinating in Maker’s Mark and acting crazier than Gary Busey,” she grumbled.

“Nothing’s crazier than Gary Busey,” he said without skipping a beat and she tamped down hard on the urge to laugh. Disarming and beautiful and too smart for his own good - this was why she couldn’t cut loose of him, even when he was fucked up and miserable. “I think… maybe it’s the right thing now,” he continued.

She clutched him close with both hands on either side of his jaw, feeling the odd scruff of his half-realized beard and tasting the bourbon on his breath. An uncontrollable wave of panic crashed over her at the idea of _losing_ him, not just to the demons he kept from her but losing his day-to-day presence in her life as well. In that moment she thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one with addiction issues. Was it healthy that they might be ending but that she still wanted to keep him close anyway? Would convincing him to stay be in his best interests? Or hers? It felt uncharitable and craven and sick that she was so scared of being alone she’d try to force them to stay in this toxic place with one another. She was breathing hard and shaking, and when she realized that, her eyes flicked to his and found him watching her with muted curiosity. She blushed under the scrutiny.

“We already talked about this,” she whispered feebly.

He sighed. “That time my decision to leave was about you. This time, it’s about me. I can’t keep going like this - something has to change. Please help me, Emily.”

That was the second time he’d asked for help that evening and he had to know how it affected her. She wondered if he was trying to manipulate her, even in this diminished way.

“I will help. Whatever you need, Spencer, but you’re not deciding this now. That’s final.”

“Draw up the resignation paperwork-”

“Did you hear me? We’re not doing this tonight.” Her fingers bit into his jaw but he didn’t flinch. One of his hands landed on her shoulder, his index finger stroking her neck idly.

“Of course not. I’m in no state to sign anything legally binding at the moment. But draw the papers up, Emily, for when I get out. When I’m clearheaded, I’ll make the choice then.”

“Fine,” she grumbled and wondered how long that gave her to change his mind. Or to change hers.

He sagged against her, his forehead pressing almost painfully into hers, and his whole body seemed to be slowly collapsing down into the couch. She continued to hold him close but the tension that had kept him focused seemed to have evaporated instantly. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowed, his hands drifted to her lap and just curled there limply…

“You need to sleep. You’re crashing,” she mumbled, looking around and seeing the pillow at the end of the couch and the neatly folded blanket draped over the back of it. _He’s sleeping out here again,_ she thought miserably.

“We gotta get on the road soon…” he muttered against her.

“You’ve got time for a nap. C’mon.” She manhandled him and when he tried to curl back into the couch, she pulled him upright with determination. “Not the sofa.”

She pushed him towards the bedroom but he stopped, his eyes snapping open, obviously fearful. “I-I can’t…”

But she was right there lacing her fingers through his and pressing warm reassurance against his side. She knew why he avoided the bedroom but she wasn’t going to let the darkness beat him tonight.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there too. Still got the night light in there?”

His eyes flashed to hers, blown out and glassy, and for a moment he did nothing but breathe roughly and tremble under her hands. Then he slowly nodded. Her fingers squeezed his.

“Then it’ll be fine.” She smiled up at him and waited until it made some of his fear recede. “You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. Just lie down and give your body a rest.”

He nodded again and let her guide him into the dim room. He lay down and watched her as she moved around turning on the night light and a small lamp so that the room was half lit, and then she sank down onto the mattress next to him nudging him to make room for her.

“My fear of the dark is childish,” he muttered eventually, sounding ashamed that she was witnessing it.

She shuffled up next to him on her side so that they were staring at each other. Then she looped her arms above his waist and pulled him in, tracing circles along his back with her fingers.

“Your fear of the dark is rational and based in experience,” she countered. “We all get scared, Spence. Far more often than we’d like to admit.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just staring back at her instead. She let him do it for quite a while, wondering what he was thinking and if he’d tell her the truth if she asked. That curiosity mutated into dread and then, eventually, changed into a grim sense of finality. There was so much between them - things that both compelled and repulsed them - but she didn’t think there was enough _understanding_ between them to survive this. And that thought made her want to curl into herself and sleep until all of this was a distant memory.

“Talk,” he said suddenly but gently, and it caused her to focus on his face once again. “Please.”

She didn’t know where to start, and then it began to flow out of her as if she’d planned it. Perhaps being unsure that they’d ever be this close again had made her fatalistically brave.

“Why did you chicken out of rehab a year ago?”

He blinked a few times before answering but when he did his voice was resigned, honest. “I was afraid that they’d tell me my addiction had expanded beyond opiates, that I’m a person who develops compulsions I can’t control. Fighting against Dilaudid is one thing - an enemy I can name - but fighting against my very nature…”

He shook his head and his expression crumbled into something innocent and wildly terrified. “How do I do that?” he whispered.

She clutched him closer, having no answer to give him. “Are you talking about the drinking?”

“In part, although I don’t really enjoy drinking. Not the way I love getting high. I mostly do it to handicap my urge to shoot up.” He said it with such casual banality: he _loved_ destroying himself. Her heart contracted inside her chest. He carried on, oblivious to how he was destroying her as well. “I’m afraid they’ll tell me it’s all an addiction. Everything I love. I’ll have to carve all of it out of me if I want to get better.”

She thought about that, thought about him staring down the prospect of a muted life. Sober, but less intense. And she could see why addicts would think about that alternative and run straight back to their poison of choice.

“I’m afraid,” he continued with a wet gasp before looking at her like it was for the last time. “That they’ll say _you’re_ an addiction.”

And her heart just stopped. There was a painful moment of nothingness and then it remembered its purpose and restarted with searing whump that felt like it cracked some ribs along the way. “Is that what you think?” she whispered and worked very hard at fighting down the nausea that was rolling around in her gut.

“No,” he shook his head against the pillow. “But I’m screwed up so I’m not sure I’m in a good position to judge this.”

Her heart did another harder, more powerful whump and she swallowed as bile threatened her composure.

“I know that I didn’t want anyone to tell me that wanting you was wrong. I didn’t want people tagging you with labels like ‘enabling’ or ‘co-dependent’ or ‘toxic’.”

She became frozen and still next to him. The only thing that still responded to her commands were her eyes, so she just blinked rapidly trying to stave off the tears and her lurching stomach and the total devastation of what he was suggesting. Had she actually just become his partner in misery? All she’d ever wanted to do was be there for him, to have a chance to love him. But what if she’d had a hand in all of this? Not Diana’s death, of course, but in prolonging his grief, encouraging his desperate need to escape. She was finding it hard to breathe, or like herself, as she contemplated it.

“You’re not those things,” he said.

“What if I am?” she mumbled numbly. “My intentions were good… I tried to do something good…”

“You _are_ good.” His hands reached out for the first time and grabbed her waist pulling her in. “No one gets to me the way you do. _I’m_ the one who might have twisted it into something negative, Em. Not you.”

She didn’t know what was happening anymore. She was in love - she understood that much. But it all felt too big, too unwieldy to handle any longer. He was sort of soft-shoeing his way around the possibility of cutting her out of his life for his own sanity, and there was a tiny, sensible part of her that whispered it would be a relief to shed the burden of this for good. It had been trouble from the first kiss and perhaps that was all it would ever be. If he got cleaned up, left the Bureau, if they went their separate ways, wouldn’t that be _better?_ A less intense life, but better…

“Emily… say something.”

He was staring at her, his eyes flicking over her features nervously. The smudges under his eyes and the shadows in the room made him look like a caricature of himself. It would be easy to convince herself that she didn’t feel the way she did about this Not-Reid. It would be a simple act to say the things that would encourage him to believe whatever his counselors told him. Because this man was not the vibrant friend she’d grown to know over a decade. This wasn’t the powerfully nerdy, utterly dependable, fiercely loyal guy she’d come to love. This was some half-light version of that man - a guy who’d hurt her, put her at risk, and invariably let her down. She could tell _that guy_ that they were done; it probably wouldn’t even hurt that much.

“Emily?”

“And if they tell you I’m part of the problem? What will you do then, Spencer?” she asked.

“I’ll tell them they’re wrong. That it’s me, not you.”

“But that’s the point, Spence. It’s _you_ around _me_ that they’d be condemning.”

She could see him blinking hard even in the dimness. Then he took a sudden breath in and when he let it out again it stuttered his chest violently.

“But you’re my best friend.” His voice was small and afraid, like a child’s. “How can that be wrong?”

One of her hands flicked up to his face before she could think about it. Her thumb stroked the line of his cheek and it came away wet. His hands tightened on her hips and she knew that he wanted to have her closer, but that he no longer knew if that were permitted between them. And suddenly, he wasn’t the cartoon Reid anymore. He still looked like a stranger, scooped out and compromised in the dark across from her, but beneath that still lurked the friend that she’d do anything for. Maybe that wasn’t healthy, but if so, they’d been very unhealthy for a long time.

“Come back to me, Spencer,” she whispered to the guy beneath the pain-filled addict. She hoped he heard her.

His eyes widened, taking on a clarity that had been missing for most of the evening. His mouth pinched and turned down as if he didn’t trust himself with the words stuck in his throat. He just nodded slowly, the pillow making a soft hiss as he moved, and his fingers tightened impossibly on her hips. She murmured the words again softly - she didn’t know why - and then they just lay there, staring at each other for hours until the dark turned to dawn.

\----

The drive to the treatment center took two hours and they passed that mostly in silence. Prentiss assumed that Reid was edging his way into a hell of a hangover and that shoring himself up to face the first day of rehab in that state took all of his energy. The center itself looked welcoming enough. It was a farm on the outskirts of Baltimore - the sort of place that didn’t have a legitimate farm vibe because the fields were too manicured and the fencing too pristine and the smell of manure was too muted. Patients were all over the grounds doing chores, tending to animals, taking walks. It struck her like some sort of absurd adult summer camp.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to dig deep and find your inner ranch hand,” she said glibly as she circled the parking lot until she found a space. In the passenger seat, Reid grunted.

“Physical labor is part of the therapy. Maybe I can explain The Reid Effect and they’ll keep me away from any animal big enough to kill me.”

She chuckled but when she looked over at him he was just staring listlessly out the windshield at the center’s entrance.

“You ready?” she whispered.

“No,” he shook his head. “But yes. Let’s go.”

There was a man waiting for them just beyond the steps to the center. He was dressed in the standard uniform of the non-threatening service worker: khakis and a blue dress shirt with the center’s name neatly embroidered over the breast pocket. He was precise and well put together but as they drew closer Prentiss noticed the pockmark scarring on his face, and when he smiled, his teeth were discolored. _Former addict, probably meth. Makes sense,_ she thought. The man stretched out his hand in greeting.

“Dr. Reid, welcome to Bright Horizons. I’m Benoit Ducharme. I’ll be your primary advisor for the next thirty days. You can call me Benny… everyone does.”

Reid stared at Benny’s hand but didn’t take it. Prentiss stepped forward.

“Ummm, Dr. Reid has a bit of a touch phobia, Benny.” Prentiss took his hand instead. “Emily Prentiss. Good to meet you.”

Benny’s eyebrows rose but then he turned to smile at her. “Likewise, Ms. Prentiss. Are you a friend or family?”

“Friend,” she answered.

“Family,” Reid said at the same time and Prentiss turned to find him blushing and staring at his shoes. “She’s family,” he added more firmly.

“Well, that’s just fine,” Benny said after an awkward moment. “Ms. Prentiss, are you aware of our socialization restrictions?”

Prentiss gave him a suspicious look. She didn’t like the language. “Socialization restrictions?”

“Yes. Dr. Reid is enrolled in our thirty day program, which is the shortest treatment we offer. Patients aren’t permitted personal calls, emails, or face-to-face visits for the first thirty days of _any_ treatment program, so I’m afraid this is the last time you will see or speak to Dr. Reid before his release.”

Her eyes flashed to Reid’s and given the fresh look of guilt on his face, he probably knew all of this already. “No contact?” she asked, trying to sound calm.

“We find that the initial isolation helps to focus the patient on their program. We don’t encourage long bouts of disconnection, because a support system is important, but in the beginning-”

“It’s just thirty days,” Reid interrupted. “It won’t be a problem.”

His eyes flicked around like he was already panicking and Prentiss was pretty sure Benny noticed it. She could imagine him making notes about Reid. _Evasive, solitary, but possibly co-dependent…_

“Well, of course, I’ll abide by the restrictions. Whatever’s in Reid’s best interests,” she said with more confidence than she felt. These people were going to tinker with his mind for a month. Who knows what sort of suggestions they could plant in that time? Prentiss understood that she was being paranoid, but she’d investigated too many cults in her time. It was a fine line between personal improvement and indoctrination, no matter how well-intentioned. “I’ll just get him settled in and then-”

“I’m afraid we can’t allow that, Ms. Prentiss,” Benny said with a look of sympathy. “No one but patients and staff are allowed in the guest suites. It’s a security concern, you understand.”

“I’m a unit chief with the FBI,” she smiled at him a little incredulously.

“Sorry, no exceptions.”

She was about to challenge Benny when Reid caught her arm and held it firmly. “Emily,” he murmured, and the look he gave her said that he was worried about the mental notes Benny was already making about them too. She checked herself but it was too late to stop the heat of frustration rising in her cheeks.

“Why don’t you two take a few minutes to say goodbye,” Benny said after a moment, and then he discretely stepped away to give them privacy. _Probably the only privacy Reid’ll get for the next thirty days,_ she thought savagely.

“It’s okay,” Reid said quietly once he knew Benny was out of earshot.

“It’s not,” she snapped, but then rolled her eyes and gave into it. “But I’m sure it will be.”

“Stop thinking about cults.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and she smirked back.

“You’re thinking it too.”

She felt both of their smiles fade away. Reid let go of her arm. He was already trying to figure out how to let go… His mouth turned down and his gaze ducked to his shoes again as he fought to stay composed. She realized that she was unintentionally sandbagging him from the start, and she couldn’t let that happen. He needed to do this and she was going to help him, to hell with anyone who considered it ‘enabling’.

“It’s just thirty days,” she shrugged. “You’ve got everything you need, and whatever you don’t have you won’t miss.”

His eyes flashed to hers then. There was something flickering there - fear or worry perhaps - but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“And at the end of it I’ll be here to pick you up,” she concluded. “So, no worries, right?”

“Right.”

She paused for a second, waffling with her need to give him a boost. She just couldn’t let him walk away to do this incredibly difficult thing as the half-man he was presenting to the world now. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

His eyebrows rose but his expression became unreadable. “Proud? Why are you proud of me? I messed up and I’m going into rehab.”

“I’m proud of you because you asked for help this time - before it was too late. And I’m proud of you because I know how much this scares you, but you’re doing it anyway. This decision might change your whole life, Spence. That’s a tough call for anyone to make.”

He blinked and then swallowed hard. “I have no right to bask in your pride.”

“Bullshit,” she said firmly. “It’s because of your actions. What the hell else am I gonna do with it if I don’t give it to you?”

His lips twitched slightly. It wasn’t anywhere close to a smile, but she’d take it. He shuffled a bit and seemed stuck; it felt as though he had something to say but maybe he wasn’t clear-minded enough to say it. She reminded herself that he hadn’t slept and that he was possibly still drunk from the night before. Off to the side she could sense Benny shifting around in their silence, just moments away from pulling Reid from her and into the treatment center. She took a step closer, keeping her voice low.

“Give this everything you’ve got, Spencer. Do it for _you_ \- not the guilt over your Mom, or the job, or for me, or the team. This is your chance to really start taking care of yourself, perhaps for the first time. That’s worth the effort. You are worth your own considerable focus. Take advantage of it.”

 _And come back to me,_ she added inside her head, though she wasn’t sure that was realistically in the cards anymore. A lot could change in a month.

Benny stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Come on, Dr. Reid. It’s time to get started.”

Reid looked lost. He’d run out of time. He stared at her with an odd mix of wonder and sadness, but she just forced a smile and gave him a nod of encouragement. Benny took another step forward.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Prentiss. I hope we see you again.”

“You will,” she vowed, but it was for Reid’s benefit, not Benny’s.

Benny smiled at her, like he was in on all of it, and then turned to face Reid holding out his hand again pointedly. “Shall we get started, Doctor?”

Reid stared at Benny’s hand and locked down his expression. It was obvious to both him and Prentiss what the therapist was doing: it was a direct challenge to his self-protection instincts, an invitation to be vulnerable. Reid reached forward and clasped the man’s hand briefly and then let it drop. Benny smiled widely and nodded. They both turned and walked towards the center together. Prentiss watched, not sure if she was stunned or relieved at the very obvious commitment Reid had just made. The one thing she was certain of was that she was afraid. Afraid of the changes ahead, afraid of losing, afraid of watching him walk away right now and never saying what she ought to…

“Spencer,” she called out. 

Benny stopped and looked back, his face concerned, preparing for interference that was doubtlessly a regular occurrence in his line of work. Reid turned around entirely to face her, expression exhausted.

“I love you,” she said gently but certain enough that it would carry across the parking lot to him. And it was true, even if he came out of rehab a different man with a different purpose. She loved him now - in this instant when he was just a goddamned wreck of a man. Loving someone when they’re well is easy. Loving someone when they’re broken, when they battle and claw and toss you aside, that was something else. Maybe it wasn’t right, but it was honest, and she gave it to him because it belonged with him.

His exhaustion lifted and the wonder was back again. His mouth dropped open and he stepped toward her. Benny caught his arm and murmured something but Reid shook off his grip with a strangled _‘no!’_ and took several more hurried strides until he was within six feet of her. He stopped and stood silently for thirty seconds, mouth still hanging open, eyes wide, lines all over him in a perfect expression of awe. Then, as he watched her, a tear slid down his cheek. And then it was her turn to look awed.

“Thirty days,” he gulped hoarsely, roughly brushing the wetness from his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. And she knew what it meant. 

_I’m coming back to you._

She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

_I am waiting._

He nodded back. And then with the greatest look of determination she’d ever seen on him, he turned again, walked to Benny, and then into the treatment center without looking back.


	7. Restore

_Three weeks, two days, seventeen hours, thirty-five minutes…_

“Hey, whatcha up to, pretty lady?”

Prentiss jolted in her office chair. She’d zoned out again staring through the windows down into the bullpen. She _had_ to get a handle on that.

“Whoa.” It was J.J. smiling and leaning into her office. “Who knew you were so allergic to compliments?”

“Sorry, J.J. You caught me daydreaming.” Prentiss smiled back and hoped J.J. wouldn’t ask what she was daydreaming about. “You need something?”

“Nope.” She sauntered into the office. “Just thought I’d ask you if you had any plans for Saturday.”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows.

“Come to our place for dinner. Hang out with the boys. Honestly, you’d be doing me and Will a favor. Henry’s nearly coming out of his skin with energy these days.”

Prentiss looked at J.J.’s casual stance, her charming smile, and saw right past it to the motivations underneath. Saturday was Reid’s day at the LaMontange house and his absence was clearly being felt there. But it was also obvious that J.J. was worried for Emily as well. She’d tried to carry on as usual but people were noticing the contemplative quiet, the dimmed enthusiasm, and the tendency to zone out. Prentiss sighed - she thought she’d been coping better than that.

“Are you trying to mother me, Jen?” she asked quietly with her mouth crooking up in a half smile.

J.J. walked until she reached the opposite side of Prentiss’s desk. “We could probably find a better name for it, but whatever works.” She skimmed the line of the desk with her finger looking uncharacteristically distracted for a second. “Come for dinner. It honestly would help us out with Henry. He loves it when people come to visit.”

“Sure, sounds great. Thanks for the invitation.” Prentiss broke out a winning smile. And part of her really did want to go and spend an evening sampling someone else’s happiness. She’d already caught up on all of her outstanding work so when she went home at night now there was nothing to do but negotiate her silent condo, her empty fridge, and her ceaseless, lonely thoughts.

J.J. matched Prentiss’s smile, perhaps relieved that her own brand of worry would be eased on Saturday as well. “Don’t worry about bringing anything. I’ve got it covered.”

“Wine?” Prentiss suggested.

“Okay, you can bring a bottle,” J.J. conceded. Then she shifted on her feet and found the balls to ask what she’d stepped into the office for in the first place. “So… how are you doing?”

The truth was that she existed in a holding pattern of low-level, circling anxiety and there was absolutely nothing she could do to alleviate it. It pinged her from the moment she got up in the morning and operated like an electric current in the background of her mind until she went to sleep again. Nothing eased it, no amount of rational analysis or planning made it better, and it had a fatalistic edge to it that was depressing the hell out of her. But she contained it, lived with it, and didn’t see the value of burdening someone else with its knowledge when there was nothing to be done about it.

But she also wouldn’t lie to J.J. about where she was at right now.

“I’m pushing through,” she said simply with a resigned huff. J.J. nodded, her eyes pinching at the corners like she was holding something of her own back.

“Me too,” she added quietly.

And then Prentiss was on her feet, rounding the desk, and pulling her friend in for a hug. She hadn’t even thought about it first. They both melted into it and Prentiss felt J.J.’s hands tighten around her in gratitude for this small acknowledgement.

“Thanks,” she mumbled when she finally stepped away from Prentiss, one hand quickly flashing up to brush something from her cheek.

“Sure,” Prentiss smiled. “Thanks for asking.” And she meant it. J.J. was the only one who understood any of this. “And thanks for the dinner invite. I think I’m down to a bottle of pickled onions and a box of baking soda at my place.”

J.J. made a face. “You are the only hardcore bachelor I’ve ever met with a uterus. Even Hotch managed to buy milk and bread from time to time.”

“What can I say? I’m an original,” Prentiss smirked and pretended that she wasn’t being entirely truthful about the contents of her fridge. J.J. shook her head and walked towards the office doorway.

“Whatever. Bring wine but not the baking soda. Six p.m., Saturday. And if you want to endear yourself to Henry, you should pick up some gummy worms too. They’re his favorite.”

J.J. turned at the doorway, her smile faltering for a split second before she anchored it in place again. Gummy worms were Reid’s favorite too; it’s probably where Henry got a taste for them. Prentiss shined it on, not allowing herself to imagine Reid sneaking candy to J.J.’s son and spoiling his dinner.

“See you Saturday,” she said instead, and watched J.J. return to her office. Then she went back to her desk to get on with her work.

_Three weeks, two days, seventeen hours, forty-five minutes…_

\----

It was unseasonably warm for November the day Prentiss drove to Bright Horizons again. She arrived far too early. _Overeager, dependent, in need of validation,_ her brain spat out helpfully. She told herself to shut up, and then she told herself that it was because the weather was so pleasant that she got out of the car and paced in the morning sunlight. The truth was that she couldn’t keep still any longer. For thirty days she’d been managing her anxiety, prioritizing other things over her emotions as a method of coping, and she’d been successful at it. But sitting in her car just yards away from the answers she sought had broken her resolve. She still wasn’t allowed inside the building. Benny had been clear about that when he’d called and confirmed that she’d be there to pick Reid up. So there she was loping around the parking lot feeling very much like some mongrel bad influence that the treatment center staff might decide to chase off with shotguns and threats. She resented it because all she’d ever tried to do was help, but it seemed as though her ‘help’ wasn’t of an acceptable variety. That was the vibe she got from Benny, anyway. She wondered if Reid felt that way now too.

Benny had given her something though during their brief phone call. He wouldn’t discuss specifics but just when Prentiss was about to give up on getting any info from the counselor at all, he mentioned, “He’s made the most of his time here - he seems highly motivated”. It felt like something to cling to, but it might also have been Benny dropping some bait in the water to see how she’d bite. This guy absolutely knew what he was doing, and there was no way that Reid had been in treatment for thirty days and _hadn’t_ mentioned their relationship. She thanked him for his call and left him with nothing.

Without warning the center’s doors opened and it was like the drop-off process in reverse: Benny led the way, still in his khakis and staff shirt, followed by Reid carrying his small go bag. She stood straighter and waved before she could stop herself. It was Benny who waved back, as if the greeting were for him, but Reid smiled albeit cautiously. He looked different. He was dressed in dark pants and a white dress shirt that was rolled to the elbows despite it being November. He stood tall, not the crumpled posture of the man she’d seen slink off a month earlier, and he looked as if he’d gained a little weight, which was bound to happen if someone else was feeding him. His face and arms were lightly tanned, and there were the vaguest hints of highlights in his hair, as if he’d spent time out in the sun. The overall effect was of a man more _present_ in his skin, if not more at ease. The transformation temporarily took her breath away: he’d survived. He’d done more than that.

Then she held her breath again as she waited to find out _what happens next._

He got within six feet of her and she realized that she was still waving like s goof, so she dropped her hand and forced out a nervous “Hi!” instead. He didn’t break his stride at all as he ignored her anxiety, dropped his go bag, and pulled her in for a solid hug. She didn’t know what to expect so she let out a surprised huff as he squeezed her close and nuzzled his face down into her shoulder. And then he just held her like that, his hands broad and warm across her back, shifting once to cinch her closer. She couldn’t help but give into it, closing her eyes and leaning into him as much as he leaned into her. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she didn’t care if he felt it or not: this was the first time she’d been completely herself in thirty days. She imagined that she could feel the sun radiating from his skin into her hands along his back. She breathed deeply and he smelled like fabric softener; he smelled _clean._

“It’s so good to see you again, Emily.” Benny broke the moment, but when Prentiss looked at him he was smiling beatifically. “Spencer has told me so much about you.”

Well, that explained why she was no longer ‘Ms. Prentiss’. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

“I’m happy you came,” Reid murmured, and it drew her eyes back to him. He was smiling and he looked truly grateful as if he hadn’t expected her to show up at all. She felt her brow wrinkle in confusion.

“I said I would.”

He nodded and then looked away a little bashfully. “I know but… I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.”

“Why would I change my mind?” And just like that she was worried again. Had he changed _his_ mind after all of this?

“Emily,” Benny interrupted, and Prentiss slid out of Reid’s grip to deal with this man who was intent on intruding on whatever was happening at that moment. Benny was still smiling like a maniac, like he understood things about her that others didn’t. “It’s so important for patients to have support on the outside, and for that support to be durable and compassionate.”

Prentiss nodded and then was taken a little aback when Benny stepped forward and grasped her hand tightly. “I know that you’ve been a great support to Spencer in the past and I know that he’s leaving here today in good hands.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“And I want you to know that we have support services at Bright Horizons for friends and family of our patients as well. Support for the supporters, if you will,” Benny chuckled and produced a business card. “If you find yourself in need of guidance, or if you just want to talk, please don’t hesitate to call me. We’ll be here - for both of you.”

Prentiss took the card, a little bewildered, and that sensation only increased when Benny let her go and walked to Reid with his arms held wide.

“C’mon man, bring it in,” he said brightly, and Reid responded by grinning and giving the man a solid, trusting hug. “You’re gonna do great. Just continue with the work we started, okay?”

“Thank you, Benny,” Reid mumbled and then let him go. “For everything.”

“It’s what I do, Spencer.” Benny slapped Reid hard on the shoulder. Reid didn’t flinch at all, grinning instead. Prentiss thought she might have to sit down. “Keep doing the work. And if you need anything, call me, alright?”

“I will.” 

“Okay then.” Benny looked between Reid and Prentiss like some sort of doting relative, and then clapped his hands loudly and made shooing motions at them both. “Get outta here. Go dive back into life.”

Prentiss just found herself blinking, unable to assimilate everything as quickly as it was being dished up. Benny grinned at them and then turned to walk back into the center. She watched him go and felt heat up her side as Reid came to stand next to her. Benny suddenly turned again and called out to Reid.

“Hey, no offense man, but I hope I never see you again,” he said.

Prentiss felt Reid’s palm settle along her shoulder and squeeze once. “Don’t worry, you won’t,” he called back warmly, and then Benny was gone and they were alone in the parking lot. Prentiss turned to face Reid, still in a daze about everything.

“You okay?” he said gently, and then she forced herself to focus on him again. He had a bemused expression that seemed to be a part of this new, relaxed version of himself.

“Yeah, I think… yeah,” she stumbled. “That was a lot to take in. I didn’t know what to expect when I got here, you know. It’s been a month of silence and _thinking_ for me…”

His face lost some of its amusement, but he nodded in understanding. “Yes, I should’ve considered that…”

“Why would you consider that?”

He blinked. “Because you went through this too. But you went through it a different way than I did, and you went through it in isolation. Part of what I learned here is that my choices are rarely just about me, and that I need to take that responsibility more seriously.”

“I think you’ve always made considered choices, Spencer.” She hoped they hadn’t convinced him otherwise.

“When it came to Mom and to the job, yes, I did,” he nodded and grabbed his go bag. “But not when it came to my personal life. Not when it came to you.”

That sounded ominous and she stopped in her tracks as they walked to the car. “What does that mean?”

He circled the car to the passenger side and then braced his arm along the roof to look at her. “It means I have amends to make.”

She sighed as her heart sank, and busied her hands with unlocking the door. She knew this was a possibility, that he’d be changed by this…

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve gained here, Spencer. I’m happy at every ounce of confidence it’s given you. But I don’t want to be one of your program steps.”

She couldn’t look at him, not if all he saw in her now was a wrong he had to right. She opened the door, all of the locks snapping open at once, but saw from the corner of her eye that he didn’t move to get inside.

“Emily…” his voice was warm. She glanced up and he was still leaning on the roof giving her an expression of frankness that was impossible to look away from. “You’re not one of my steps.”

He stared at her a moment longer and then gave her a quick smile before disappearing into the passenger side of her car. She took a minute, and then got in too, and then they started the drive back to their lives in D.C.

\----

They stumbled into his apartment and she could practically hear his eyes zipping around in their sockets taking in all of the changes. She closed the door behind them and waited for it.

“You cleaned,” he stated flatly, and then squinted at the windows facing the street. “And you even did the windows.”

Her face heated a little. He didn’t need to know that it had helped to control her useless anxiety if she was puttering around his apartment. “Is it a problem?”

“Absolutely not,” he sounded a bit amazed. “It hasn’t been this clean since I moved in. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled and turned towards his kitchen. “Also, the fridge has been stocked.”

He followed her, his mouth hanging open when she revealed the freezer stuffed with Tupperware containers. “Rossi, J.J., and Garcia set you up with meals for the week so you wouldn’t have to worry about grocery shopping right off the bat.” She shrugged. “Everyone figured it would be nicer to come back to something homemade rather than something microwaved.”

“They…” he didn’t finish, just stood staring at the frozen love bundled in plastic instead.

“You have been missed,” she added gently, and then closed the freezer and turned away from him.

“I… I’ve missed them too.”

“Good,” she smiled to herself. Suffering shouldn’t be for nothing. 

She picked up his go bag and took it into his bedroom hoping that he would be sleeping in there for the foreseeable future and not the couch. She made sure the night light had a new bulb and she’d bought a few more and scattered them around the apartment because she didn’t see anything wrong in his fear, only that he chose to hide it. She looked over the made up bed and told herself not to linger, but when she walked back to him he looked completely overwhelmed.

“What is it?” she asked quickly.

“I… sorry, it’s nothing, really,” he gulped and then leaned against his kitchen counter. “I get these… moments lately where what I think and what really is overlap and I see the glaring differences. Benny says it’s healthy to have these ‘boot to the head’ moments.”

“Boot to the head?”

“Yeah, to shake up the misconceptions. Like… the fridge.” He pointed to the freezer in awe. “I never thought they’d miss me like that.”

“It’s not just the food,” Prentiss added. “I had to stand in for you on Saturday nights at J.J.’s place. Henry asked every time when you were coming home.”

Reid just stared at her and swallowed.

“J.J. too. You’re an extension of her family, her life. It was hard for her to have that suddenly ripped away with no contact. She cried a lot.” Prentiss sighed. “We both did.”

She looked up again and saw that his eyes were glassy and he seemed very unsure of what to do next. His fingers were fiddling against the seam of his pants.

“Listen, these aren’t sad stories,” she rushed to answer. She didn’t want this to turn into a litany of remorse and restitution. “They’re… evidence, if you will. Snapshots of the effect you have on people around you. You’ve always had a hard time believing that you matter.”

He blinked and then nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes, that’s true. That’s part of why I always made decisions on my own, why I didn’t understand how my actions affected others. Part of it is being an addict and that makes you selfish, but the rest of it is… _that._ ”

She walked towards him as he watched.

“You’re not selfish, Spencer, just a little misguided. Anyone who’s helped as many people as you have couldn’t be called selfish. And the way you were dedicated to your Mom, or how you give yourself to J.J.’s kids… that’s an intense love of others. It is _good._ You just need to wrap your head around the fact that the love is returned equally.”

He smirked in a watery way. “Boot to the head.”

“I like that term a lot,” she chuckled and brushed past him to make some coffee. She thought she heard a small gasp as she brushed his arm, but she told herself not to pounce on anything. Things had to unfold as they would with him now. “Coffee? Or, we could out somewhere…”

“Coffee, yes please,” he murmured behind her. “I’d like to stay here - just the two of us, if you don’t mind… I need to ease back into all of this.”

Her heart kicked out a loud thump as she prepped the coffee maker. “Sure, I totally get it. But just so you know, Garcia is planning a small party. Don’t have a stroke or anything.”

He groaned.

“It’ll be fine,” she laughed and turned back to face him. “Just the gang and the kids. Family.”

“Family. Hmmm…” he mumbled and stared off to his newly-cleaned windows.

She let him be as the coffee machine hissed and gurgled with the promise of caffeine. When it was done she made him a cup the way he liked it and then placed it next to him on the counter. He broke his stare and looked at her, eyes soft, thankful, and then she retreated to make her own, trying to tamp down the urge to ask him what he was thinking about.

“Remember what I said before I went into rehab? About the Bureau?” He slurped his coffee and watched her carefully.

“You mean about resigning?” Her coffee soured in her mouth.

“Yeah. Did you organize the paperwork?”

“I-I did,” she stuttered. “But I figured you might change your mind.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“Why?”

He slowly put his coffee mug down and gave a worn expression that basically said _‘you know why’._

“Spence, you just got out of rehab two hours ago. This can wait. Take some time to breathe why don’t you?” 

“I spent thirty days considering this decision,” he sighed. “I know what I want.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it right now,” she snapped before she could stop it. She caught his concerned stare and tried to shrug it off. He called her name but she moved to a kitchen drawer instead, opened it and produced the papers he wanted. Then she walked back to him and placed them next to his mug. She gave him her most bulletproof ‘I don’t care’ expression.

“Here. Just don’t make me watch you sign them, okay?” 

She walked away into his living room and sunk down onto his sofa, staring out the windows to the bright November day beyond them. There was a long bout of silence between them and then she heard him shuffle into the living room and eventually sit next to her. He was careful not to touch her but she could feel the heat of him up her side. Somehow that felt more distancing than comforting.

“I’d like to explain why,” he said quietly. She nodded without looking at him because, in truth, it was his decision to make and he didn’t owe her anything, but his desire to make her understand it was an important shift for him.

“I’ve loved being an FBI agent. It was my whole life for a long time. I loved the challenge of it, and the mysteries, and the tangible results that my efforts made. It gave me friends, confidence, and a sense of purpose. Who knows who I might have been without it.”

She heard him take a deep breath and when he continued his voice wasn’t warm anymore, but serious and weary.

“But it’s also taken things from me. Gideon, Maeve, Strauss… in a way I’ve also lost Morgan and Hotch, even you for a time…”

She looked at him then. He was staring at her earnestly, willing her to understand.

“I’ve been shot, beaten, tortured, kidnapped, infected, blown up and, yes, drugged. I let the job become more important than Mom’s illness, more important than relationships. I let it be this undeniable beacon of importance that made everything else seem _lesser_ in its shadow. I hid things I didn’t want to deal with in that shadow and felt justified about it because the work was ‘good’ and ‘necessary’.”

He paused and then looked down at her hands dangling from her knees. Reaching forward he gently collected one into his grip, holding it and squeezing it just so.

“The incident with Peter Lewis was just another in a long line of traumas that keeps me up at night. I realize now that he didn’t break me - I can handle what happened. I can adjust to it existing in my memory and being something that I can never forget like Hankel or Dowd or Hardwick. But the point is that these traumas will keep coming.”

He held her gaze in silence for a moment.

“So long as I keep doing the job, there is the possibility for another Mr. Scratch to get inside my head. I dealt with it this time, but maybe next time I won’t be able to.”

His hand squeezed hers tighter.

“If I’m going to look after myself, take responsibility for my addiction, I have to recognize the stressors that tempt me into slipping, and I need to avoid them as much as I can. This job is one huge stressor.”

She made a mirthless snort and nodded her head in agreement. He squeezed her hand again.

“I did a lot of good. I wouldn’t change that. But it’s time for me to leave - _for me._ ”

“You did do a lot of good,” she said shakily.

“I’m not rejecting the job. I’m gonna miss it - I know I will.” He took a deep breath in. “I’m not rejecting you.”

She looked at him then and he seemed worried.

“This won’t reflect badly on your leadership. This is a collection of experiences over years that has led me here. I’ll make sure that’s clear in the exit interview.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Of course you are, and you have every right to be. I’m concerned about it too. I’m not going to allow my attempts to straighten out my mess to impact your career, Emily. I know what it means to you.”

“I appreciate the consideration but that’s really not what I’m worried about.” She let go of his hand and looked away. She was worried about _losing._ How could she explain it? He’d move on, have a new, healthier life and she’d stay the same. How long would it be before he needed to cut her out of his life as well? Or maybe he’d just drift away naturally, their friendship too rooted in the work to survive this disruption.

“Tell me what worries you then,” he said quietly, waiting.

She sighed loudly and ran a hand through her hair. “It won’t be any fun without you.”

He raised his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes in response. “You know what I mean. We had good times together over the years... hunting bad guys and looking at gross stuff… we both enjoyed it in a weird way for its own sake.”

“Sure we did.” He seemed a little taken aback. “I’m leaving the job, Emily. I’m not quitting on our friendship.”

“You say that now-”

“I’m _not quitting,_ ” he growled and it forced her to look at him and see how serious he was about that. She made a soft noise as she looked at him and felt terrible that she’d have to explain it.

“Listen, you’ll get a new job, new friends, a new purpose, and I’ll still have this same ridiculous one, and we’ll make plans together that I’ll probably have to cancel on more often than not because of a case, and you’ll get frustrated, and you’ll start naturally gravitating to friends who _don’t_ frustrate you, and you’ll develop your own social life, and one day you’ll realize it’s been six months since you last saw me and that you don’t even think about asking me to the movies anymore and you won’t remember when that happened but it did and you’ll feel sad for a while but then recognize that it was the work that held us together and that this was always bound to happen even though you thought it never would. Maybe we’ll see each other once in a while at a school play for Henry or one of Garcia’s parties, and we’ll hug and say it’s been forever and we should catch up sometime and then we’ll trade some old stories back and forth until we have nothing more to say and we both wander away because we’re strangers to each other now and it’s just too awkward and sad to continue pretending.”

It all tumbled out of her too quickly and she had to choke in a breath afterwards because she hadn’t intended to lay all of that on him, especially when his reasons for leaving were so right and healthy. His face slowly transformed into a stunned look of horror and she decided that she was being a shitty friend and that when he did eventually fall away from her he’d be better off.

“Sorry. That was… sorry. I didn’t really mean to say all of that. Quitting the Bureau is the right choice. I can see that now. Just… forget that verbal spew I made. Today has obviously been more emotional than I counted on.”

“Emily.” He waited until she stopped trying to deflect, his eyes wide and mouth drawn down. “You’re my best friend. I’m never giving up on you.”

“Okay,” she gulped and tried to force a smile at him. “Okay, sure. It’ll be fine. I’m probably just ‘worst case scenario-ing’ this too much.” 

He continued staring at her in dread and she felt sick to her stomach that she’d turned his forward momentum into something awful about her instead. She stood from the couch suddenly, deciding that she’d got him home safe and he was going to stay that way.

“I think I should go,” she said cautiously but it seemed to alarm him even more. “It’s your first day back and I’m making it a little too dramatic, I’m sorry. I’ll give you some time to settle in and… I’ll swing by in a day or two. I can pick up the paperwork then and I’ll be entirely normal. I promise.”

He stood almost before she could finish and pulled her in for a crushing hug that knocked the wind from her for an instant. She felt him bury his face down into her shoulder, his chin pressing painfully against her. It wasn’t like the reassuring hug in the parking lot of Bright Horizons. This one was desperate, like he was clinging to daylight for some reason. Her hands smoothed along his back as he held her too tightly and didn’t say anything.

“It’s okay, Spence,” she murmured. “I freaked out and I shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said in a halting sort of way against her shoulder.

“Of course you won’t.”

“I… I didn’t think about how you’d feel about all of this. I knew what you’d do, sort of, but I didn’t think about how it would make you feel, about how it might appear to you. I’ve been making these changes in my head for a month, but for you, it’s all happening today. I should’ve _thought_ about that.” He seemed angry with himself, and she pulled back as much as she could to see his expression. He was scowling and pinched all over.

“C’mon now,” she shook him a little in her grip and then tried to smile. “Quit being so hard on yourself. You really aren’t responsible for my dingbat emotional reactions to things. I freaked out, Spence. It happens. But I’m fine - we’ll be fine.”

“You just mentioned the party and the gang… and they’re all expecting me to come back. But I can’t, and, I guess I thought it would be best to get that decision over with before seeing all of them made me doubt it again.”

“I understand that and it makes sense.” She pulled slowly out of his arms and then patting him on the chest. “Tell you what, I’ll put everyone off on the party thing for a few days and I’ll swing by tomorrow to get your paperwork. The whole thing can be processed by the end of the week, and then you can focus on your next step. Sound good?”

He nodded still looking very worried and she didn’t know what she could do to ease it.

“So, I’m gonna go and give you a little privacy now. I’m sure you could use some alone time after thirty days of groups and activities and chores…”

She collected her bag and headed for the door trying to look casual and not like she was trying to flee the situation.

“I was actually alone most of the time,” he answered quietly and she looked back at him still standing in front of the couch. His worry had faded a bit and was replaced by something hesitant instead. “I mean, there were group therapy sessions and exercises, meals and stuff like that, but none of those people knew me. None of them were my friends. They only understood my addiction and what I was trying to work past. I was very much on my own even as I worked hard to participate.”

Her heart punched out a painful, wet beat as he told her that.

“Sometimes… I imagined you there,” he continued. “At night when I was in my room too scared or too upset to sleep, I’d imagine you there, next to me, just staring like you did the evening before you dropped me off at rehab.” He shrugged uncomfortably but didn’t look away from her, and didn’t look ashamed. “Sometimes that helped.”

She didn’t know what to say for a moment. She gripped her bag tightly and thought about telling him that one night when the isolation was just too much she let herself into his place and curled up on his bed feeling miserable and disconnected from everything in her life. Before she knew it, it was morning, the lingering scent of him lulling her into a dreamless sleep.

“I’m glad,” she said eventually, and she was. His expression lifted slightly, optimistically. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She was halfway out the door when he called out to her. “Thank you, Emily.”

“For what?” she popped her head back through the doorway.

“Just… thank you.”

The look of gratefulness he’d shown her in the parking lot was back and it was so immense that it made her feel watery everywhere. She still wasn’t sure what she’d actually done, how she’d actively participated in any stage of his recovery, but the expression moved her tremendously. She huffed out a “Sure thing - see you soon” and closed the door before she strode right back to him and asked him point blank what he wanted from her now. Because she wanted everything, against all experience and common sense, but he was moving into another lane, on another road that might take him far from her and maybe in the end the chase wouldn’t be worth it for either of them.

\----

“Spencer, I’m starved. What’s the hold up?” Prentiss called from the living room while trying to decide between watching _Game of Thrones_ , _Masters of Sex_ or _Banshee_. All of it was stored in his PVR but none of it really seemed appropriate, not to mention that all of them were riddled with sex and she wasn’t sure she wanted to squirm her way through dinner with him.

“Almost there,” he called back. “You can’t rush these things.” He didn’t sound convinced of that. When she’d arrived he had proudly proclaimed that he was going to cook for them. Her eyebrows rose but she kept her comments delightfully surprised. In fact, everything he did lately seemed to surprise her a little.

He’d been back for three weeks and in that period, he’d resigned from the FBI, withstood both his welcome back party as well of the many questions that followed when he announced his ‘retirement’, leapt back into Henry and Michael’s lives to the delight of J.J., as well as somehow striking up a crazed co-authoring bargain with Rossi for the next book he owed his publisher. On top of that, he’d also found a new job.

“Johns Hopkins University?” she asked when he told her earlier in the evening.

“Yep. They contacted me months ago about heading up their criminal psychology program, but I turned it down when I decided to stay with the Bureau. They said they made the position specifically for me, but I wasn’t entirely sure of that at the time,” he said distractedly as he peered at the contents of his spice rack. “Turns out that was true. They didn’t look for other applicants, and when I contacted them last week about possibly doing a guest lecture series or something - BAM - the offer was back on the table.”

“Wow,” she choked out while internally chanting her mantra to _be supportive._

“Yeah, even when I told them about Bright Horizons they were all for it.”

“You told them you went to rehab?”

He shrugged and threw a ton of _something_ into the pot simmering on the stove. “Universities are notorious for having morality clauses in their contracts. I wanted to be honest from the beginning in order to avoid any acrimony down the line. Caveat emptor, and all that. As it turns out, the Dean is a recovering alcoholic, so there’s some appreciation for the hurdles recovery can place before you there.”

“Hmmm,” she murmured against her glass. “So, Baltimore, huh?”

“Oh, I’m not moving,” he looked up at her suddenly. “I can commute. It’s not that far.”

Well, that was something at least.

“And I was thinking,” he continued, face now alight with anticipation. “They have that particle physics lab there… maybe I could start a new degree! I’ve always been interested in physics…”

She smiled because his joy was obvious, and she loved his joy. It had been missing from him for so long that it was almost like stepping back in time to see it on him again. She’d been concerned that he was taking on too much too soon, but his confidence hadn’t waned from the day he’d been released and she had to remind herself that in the past he’d always been what she considered to be overstretched in his interests. But to him, it was normal - he needed lots of projects to keep him occupied. So, she told herself that she shouldn’t be worried that he’d agreed to be an author, a teacher, an active godfather, as well as an enthusiastic student all at once. That was just _him._ But she was worried that there would be less time for her, less time for movie and dinner nights like this one that they’d tried to establish since he’d come home. And less time to figure out what was going on with them, because it had been _three weeks_ and they still hadn’t addressed it.

She told herself not to see this as the beginning of him drifting away. She told herself to be the encouraging friend that she’d promised to be. And then she told herself to go mope in front of his PVR where he wouldn’t notice her.

But now she shuffled back into his kitchen, driven by hunger as well as curiosity because he refused to tell her what he was making. She found him slowly stirring the huge pot and staring into it in bafflement. If it didn’t bode so badly for dinner she would have found it hilarious. She came up next to him, looking down into the pot. Her arm brushed his sleeve enough that he’d notice even though she tried to convince herself it was ‘accidental’.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” she asked.

He scowled and kept stirring. “I really… don’t… know…” He gave the pot some serious thought and then, “I don’t understand. I followed the formula rigorously.”

She laughed out loud and he looked at her, puzzled, and then as if he were trying to hide a smile.

“Spence, it’s recipe, not a formula.”

“Nonsense. It is instructions for a sequence of combined elements in order to create a stable chemical mixture. It’s _a formula_. It should be successful if you follow it properly, otherwise why bother writing it down in the first place?”

That just made her laugh even harder, loud and unladylike as she searched around until she found a spoon. He watched her, color rising to his cheeks and a wide grin splitting his face at her antics. After she retrieved the spoon she sidled up next to him again and gave him a little hip check for good measure. He let out a surprised huff and stopped stirring, eyes riveted to her.

“Well, you only live once,” she grinned and then dipped the spoon into the mystery pot, getting a sample and then blowing on it as he watched her mouth. She ate the spoonful and for a moment she was the living embodiment of shock. His smile faded as he watched her process it.

“Oh my god…” she mumbled.

“What? _What?_ ”

Prentiss quickly dipped the spoon back in and scooped up another mouthful but this time she held it out to him with her free hand cupped underneath for drips. “Here,” she murmured eyes wide. He opened his mouth tentatively, looking her in the eye as she fed him. And then he swallowed and his eyes slid closed.

“Wow,” he said.

“I know!” She spooned up another mouthful gleefully. “It looks like dog vomit but you’ve made stroganoff. And you didn’t just _make_ stroganoff, you made the _best_ stroganoff I’ve tasted in years. How the hell did you do that?”

“Must have been the right formula,” he said a bit stunned.

“Christ, I could eat this right over the stove…” She scooped up a mouthful with a morsel of perfectly seasoned beef and made a slightly shameful moan. He watched her for a second and then shook himself before searching around for plates.

“Nope. No standing over the stove. We’re not heathens.”

They plated up the admittedly ugly-looking meal and then devoured it like the delighted heathens Reid insisted that they weren’t. They forgot about watching tv, instead just making contented sounds. Eventually, as Prentiss went back for seconds and Reid smiled with no small amount of pride, he launched into a long info dump about some of the more bizarre facts of Russian cuisine. She watched him sink into the guy she’d known for years and allowed herself to feel wistful and content for once, not thinking about anything beyond the moment. His story eventually ran out of gas and then he just watched her, which made her feel warm as well as content. She saw his long fingers flicking his napkin in a strange pattern and she wondered if it was nerves or whether he was trying to figure something out.

“So, why the sudden urge to cook?” she asked quietly.

His eyebrows rose. “I _can_ cook, you know.”

“Obviously,” she smiled. “But you’ve never offered before.”

“Feeding myself has always just been a process. The body needs fuel. I understand that.” He made it sound matter-of-fact, as if all humans approached food that way. “But feeding someone else is kinda like… a gift, I guess. There’s a lot more riding on it. And since food can be tied up with sensate pleasure, you’ve gotta be sure about what you’re doing. Gotta have the right formula.”

He wiggled his brows a bit to make her laugh.

“I’ve never had much opportunity to cook for others,” he continued. “But I do have a Ph.D in chemistry. I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

“Well, I’m pleased to be your test subject,” she grinned, feeling her face heat a little.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he replied. “That was my goal.”

“Was it?” She let the question hang there as the mirth faded from them gently. She _wanted_ to know his goals, and if she played a part in them. His eyes got serious but he nodded.

“You’ve looked after me a lot over the years,” he said carefully. “It seems like reciprocity is due.”

“That’s not the sort of thing you owe to a friend,” she waved it off. “I looked after you because I wanted to. I just _did it._ ”

“Well, what if I want to look after you just because _I want to?_ ” he countered, and she suddenly felt too warm under his gaze. “No endgame, no debt reconciliation. What if it just makes me happy?”

Her pulse sped up and her mouth got dry. She stood quickly and collected the plates, taking them into the kitchen and getting a glass of water to calm her in the process. “Feeding me makes you happy?” she called back to him, but when she turned he was close behind her, carrying in the remnants from the table. His eyes followed her, but he kept a discreet distance as he put away the spices and began to scrape the dishes. She made herself useful and began spooning up what was left of the stroganoff into a container.

“Yes, it makes me happy,” he said eventually as they moved around each other in the kitchen in such a careful way it could have been choreographed. “And it gives me a way to stay connected with you now that we no longer work together. You’re worried about that. So am I.”

She looked up at him from where she was scraping out the pot and his expression was concerned. Then he dropped his eyes and took the pot from her to soak in the sink.

“If I can convince you to come over regularly for a homecooked meal, that seems like a good solution.”

“I am a _lousy_ cook…” she aimed for humor and was rewarded with a smirk from him before he retreated from the sink. 

He watched her clean up, his hip balanced against the counter top. She felt his eyes on her and wondered why neither of them had said anything about _them_ yet. It had been too long and now felt overdue. He wasn’t hiding away from what lay between them, and yet there was a definite sense of hesitation. She couldn’t decide if it was a personal conflict he was fighting or if it was something to do with his treatment process. The only thing she was certain of was that she was tired of waiting for an answer to this question. She needed to know one way or another, and if he wasn’t certain enough to breach it, she would.

She stuffed the leftovers in the fridge and quickly wiped the counter down. Then she turned and stared him straight in the eye. His gaze flickered for a second, as if shocked at being caught staring, but he didn’t look away, and when she eventually moved, his eyes followed her every step of the way. It was impossible not to blush under that sort of attention, and she felt it heating her face as she slid up next to him along the counter. One of her hands rested on the tiled surface, a fingertip purposefully brushing his where it rested next to her. He continued staring but not acting. Then she took it up a notch and stepped into him until their hips brushed one another. She placed her other hand against his chest and let the weight of it sink in. His eyes flicked down to it for a moment, and then back to her eyes again.

“Is this okay?” she murmured after ten seconds of silent staring and her pulse hammering against her temples.

“It is if you want it,” he murmured back. “I came out of rehab with no expectations, Emily.”

That hurt more than she anticipated. “Do you not remember what I said when I dropped you off?”

“I remember it all perfectly. It’s what kept me going when I didn’t think I could do it anymore.” His stare was beginning to swallow her up and she felt a bit lost in that wide, hazel earnestness and the soft hitching of his voice. Then his hand drifted up and she felt a fingertip skim the line of her cheek, along her jaw, and then zip down her throat leaving heat behind. “But things can change. You once told me you had limits. I needed to know what you said wasn’t just the heat of the moment. That it wasn’t just to bolster me before I went in. We’re not encouraged to… depend on things like that.”

His glance flicked away for the first time as his reality made him doubt himself. Her hand on his chest tightened clutching his shirt in sharp creases that brought his eyes back to hers again. She leaned in until her lips brushed his. She felt his sigh, knew that his eyes closed as he gave in, fractionally, but still didn’t quite believe.

“You know me,” she whispered, catching his lower lip and tugging it for just an instant. “Is that the sort of thing I’d do?”

He nipped her mouth back, just the smallest of bites like he was afraid to do more. “I promised I’d come back to you.” It came out in a strained whisper.

“And I’ve been here, waiting for you, the whole time,” she answered.

He took her mouth slowly and deeply, hands rising to cup her face and pull her close. It still felt hesitant and then she realized they’d rarely been gentle with one another before. She collapsed into his chest until they were connected from waist to shoulders. Her hand in his shirt twisted as the other one skimmed up his back to bring him nearer. He lengthened the kiss, pulling away in small moments of breath, and then dipping back in to pick up where he left off. It felt like it could go on indefinitely and she realized that they didn’t have a timetable - they could take as long as they wanted. 

His hands moved again, slipping around her back, palms warm against her spine and fingers pressing ten points of _‘I need more of you’_ into her. She pushed into him more forcefully, letting some of her tension from the past few weeks drive her for a moment. He pulled back as he felt her shift, nuzzling her cheek with soft pecks instead.

“You okay?”

She shook her head, no, against him and when he tried to pull back to see her face she gripped him close so he couldn’t.

“I thought… I thought you might not come back,” she whispered. “I mean, physically, yes, but maybe it wouldn’t be _you_ anymore.”

“Emily.” His arms tightened around her to reassure her.

“It’s been a hell of an affair, Spence. Nothing has been easy. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to steer clear of that…”

He tried to shush her and she struggled in his arms to let him know that he needed to shut up and listen. This was important.

“Hey, pay attention, okay?” She wrestled her way until they were face-to-face again, their lips just a breath apart. “I love you. I loved you when we were just friends. I loved you that first night in Houston. I loved you when it was hard, and also when I thought it was getting easier. I loved you terribly the day you went into rehab even as I loathed the addict’s skin you were wearing. But none of that means a damned thing if loving _me_ is part of the problem. I don’t want to be part of your addiction, Spencer.” She shook him a little and tried to swallow back the lump forming in her throat. “I’m still waiting to hear that I’m not.”

He let out a shocked breath. “You’re not. Never, Em. You’re the best thing I know.”

“You’re sure?” She hated how small her voice sounded.

He nodded against her. “You’re the right person. You’ve always been _my_ right person.” She didn’t really understand what that meant but it was clearly very meaningful to him. 

“I don’t believe in unconditional love, Emily. Love should have conditions - things that you owe to another person for the vulnerability that they offer you. But I do believe that some people come close to unconditional love. They can look at another person and not just love who they show to the world, they want the person underneath as well. They somehow see past the disguise and look on all of your worst scars, kiss your bruises, and still find themselves wanting that person. Like looking on Dorian Gray’s portrait and finding it beautiful.”

He squeezed her tighter until she almost couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t think it’s very common. Most who receive it probably don’t even know how rare and valuable it is. When you told me that you loved me in my worst moment, when I was most ashamed of myself in your eyes… I knew that I’d inexplicably received that strange sort of love. I promised myself then that I wouldn’t waste it. Even if it changed after I got out - if you decided that you just _couldn’t_ again - I’d love you as a friend, be that stable, constant reassurance for you that you’ve always been for me. Because I owe you that for kissing my bruises and finding beauty in them.”

Her heart was causing a scene behind her ribs, and between that and his frantic grip on her, she couldn’t catch her breath. She stuttered out his name and he eased up a little, looking her in the eye.

“I’m a deeply flawed man, and I hate my flaws. I’ve worked long and hard to hide them. I’ve gotten into trouble because of them and I’ve destroyed things in their name. But you see them, and me, and you _stay anyway._ That makes me feel less monstrous and makes me want to overcome them at the same time. I will always owe you for that, Emily, but it’s a debt I’m happy to carry because you are the right person. Nothing else about this makes any sense other than that.”

Her hand in his shirt rose up to cup his face. His eyes slid closed and he leaned into her hand with an odd, contented curl to his lips. In that moment, she truly believed that he’d spend his life loving her even if she didn’t return it. It was such a simple, overwhelming promise made by the curve of his mouth.

“The only thing you owe me,” she waited until his eyes focused on hers again. “Is honesty, Spencer. No more shutting me out, no more lone wolfing the things that are bigger than you are. If you can give me that, I’m in. Because I’m not a saint either and you’re the only guy I’ve known who never once expected me to be as perfect as my make-up.”

“I can do that,” he said so, so softly, and then he kissed the smile his answer produced.

Her arms slid around him, one hand eventually burying itself in his hair. He moaned at it; she felt his eyelashes flicker against her as he shocked himself with the sound. She pressed them both back against the counter top, he bolstering her weight as she leaned into him. His hands cinched her closer, getting rougher along her back as their kiss deepened into open-mouthed pulls. Her pulse was jackrabbiting all over the place, perhaps unconvinced that this wasn’t temporary or a misguided impulse. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that he was actually there, sober and willing, in her arms. And it was also difficult to come to terms with the knowledge that the person who’d become the sole focus of her heart was an addict, and therefore, loving him would always be difficult.

She broke away from the kiss with a gasp, shocked and terrified and deliriously happy in a messy tangle. He huffed out a breath and then pressed his lips against her forehead, breathing her in, refusing to let her go.

“Can I admit something?” he whispered into her skin, and she nodded. “I’m a little scared of us.”

She pressed hard into his cheek, her nails digging into the back of his neck. “So am I.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I’ve fallen for an addict. Every sensible impulse in me tells me that I should get away from you. I mean, what if I screw this up? It’s a lot of responsibility.”

He pulled back enough to see her eyes, his hands cupping her face once more. “And what if _I_ screw this up? This is the third chance you’ve given me. I have a poor track record in making you happy, Emily.”

She thought about that while staring into his eyes and all of the doubts and worries that lived behind them. She thought about the questionable decisions she’d made over the years, how they’d always seemed like Hail Mary passes in retrospect even though she’d been confident enough in the moment to make them. Even as a leader, that’s still how she operated: going with her gut and sorting out the logistics later. As much as leadership weighed heavily on her, she was willing to admit that she wouldn’t have made it this far if she weren’t good at it, if her instincts weren’t true. And right now her gut was unambiguous in its judgment of the situation. 

“I think the fact that we’re both scared means something,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That we know what we’re getting into. We know what’s at stake this time, and we know we’re going to have to work for it.” Her vision got a little blurry and she couldn’t hide it from him. She shrugged in his arms and thought _to hell with it._ “I’m still here, Spence. For whatever that’s worth. I’m prepared to be scared with you.”

His expression collapsed and he muttered, “Jesus, Em” a moment before he crushed her to him in a hard kiss. Her hand scrabbled to his neck to steady herself and she felt the frantic tattoo of his pulse under her fingers. She curled up onto her toes and into him, giving into the moment and letting it have them.

“How did I… earn this?” he gusted when they came up for air, holding her painfully close. 

“Stop asking stupid questions, genius. Besides, does the answer really matter?”

“I want to know what I did right.”

She took his lips softly, pulling just long enough and with enough tension to draw a low moan from him. Then she did it again. And again. He melted into her, his body becoming an eager curve that wanted to mirror her any way she moved. She felt his pulse even under her hand, still rapid but steady, and when she began kissing down his neck his grip changed from desperate to sure and liquid around her.

“The truth will sound trite,” she whispered against his throat before she took a soft, luxurious bite. He stretched so that he bared more of it to her, until it seemed impossibly long. “What you did right was just be you. I liked you from day one - I liked the kind of person you were.”

He huffed under her mouth as she nuzzled into the v made by his dress shirt. “But after everything we’ve been through now… I dunno. I guess it’s made me want you more, not less. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

His hands fell into her hair and he gently pulled her away so he could see her face. His cheeks were flushed, mouth open a little as he tried to gain some of the control he’d lost, but his eyes were wide and amazed. Because he still didn’t understand how he got to people.

“You’ve been through all of this shit,” she continued quietly. “But you’re still you underneath it all and you keep fighting to _be you_ and… that just _does_ something to me, Spence, it really does. I love that.”

He held her a moment longer in silence and then he murmured, “That does something to me, Emily.”

She blushed furiously and felt embarrassed about it, wishing that they’d decided to have this soul-baring conversation in a dimmer room. But he ignored her awkwardness and then replaced it with his own bravery instead.

“Can I admit something else?”

“I don’t know if we can handle much more unvarnished emotional awareness tonight.”

She smirked but he was looking at her with that dangerous flicker that had drawn her in too many times before. He stooped to take her mouth again, this time hot and urgent.

“I want to take you to bed, Em,” he breathed against her cheek, and she couldn’t stop the shiver that vibrated her against him. His lips pressed a soft kiss just below her ear in response and even though he was as close as he could get she could barely hear him when he said, “May I do that?”

Her hands tightened on him as she tried to steady herself, but her whole body flushed with heat like he’d just flicked an on switch. She experienced a strange disconnected feeling for an instant and then recognized it as shock: part of her was surprised that this was still a possibility between them. She supposed it was partially a defense mechanism in case he rejected her again, and when she realized that wasn’t happening, she was overcome by a powerful wave of relief. The feeling produced a burst of laughter from her that she couldn’t reel back in, dizzying and a little manic. She pulled away and he was confused by it, his whole body alive with want but stalled by a reaction he didn’t understand. She didn’t give him time to ask the inevitable question, just grabbing his hands and pulling him after her as she backed towards his bedroom. He stumbled after her, eyes riveted to hers, until they made it to the darkness of his room. Then he pulled her back to him, cupping her jaw and kissing her as if she’d be ripped away from him at any moment. She whimpered against his mouth as he did it, which just made him go at her more urgently, and then she pulled his hips into hers and they both made a strangled ‘oh’ sound when they connected, him tight against his seams.

“I’ve missed you,” she blurted against his mouth as he gasped, and then she moved across his chin and down his throat in licking swirls that just made her name tumble out of him again. His hands moved to her hair, stroking and clutching as she got to his collarbones and sucked. Her fingers skimmed down his shirt, unbuttoning it blindly while she lost herself in the warmth of his skin at the base of his throat. The shirt tails made a soft sound as she pulled them free and then she zipped her hands up underneath the fabric to flick it off his shoulders and away. Then she opened her eyes and laughed gently.

“Spencer Reid, you have a farmer’s tan,” she chuckled at the sight of the darker patches around his neck and forearms that were visible even in the dim light given off by the room’s night light.

“I was outside a lot and it was October,” he huffed defensively. “You didn’t expect me to go shirtless, did you?”

“A girl can dream.”

“You are the only one dreaming that dream,” he countered dryly but then kissed her like he was turned on by the idea. Then his hands slipped under her top, one becoming a warm pressure against her back and another curling under a breast cupping and teasing her through her bra.

“Don’t be coy,” she gasped, and then his fingers were tenting the fabric up and over her until it flicked across her head and she heard it make a quiet thunk when it hit the floor. Then he was against her, waist to shoulders, warm and smooth in contrast to the sudden cool of the room. She sighed into his chest, arms circling him as his hands zeroed in on her bra. She felt the clasp go and took a half step back as he stared and then hooked his fingers in the straps and slowly drew them down her arms. It made a satisfying drop to the floor as well and then he just stood there watching her in the dimness. He was breathing through his mouth and she could hear it hitching as he stood there. He seemed to be stuck, and then she had a thought.

“Boot to the head?” she murmured.

“Y-yeah… yes…”

“S’okay.”

She quickly stepped around him, circling until she was behind and trailing her hands from his back to his abdomen. His muscles tensed a little under her fingers but he remained still and then she pressed herself against him huffing a breath along his shoulder as she did it. Her hands tightened along his abs pulling him back into the warmth of her stomach, her breasts, her cheek along his back, and he let out a noise that stuttered his entire upper body as he arched his head back as well, hair falling into hers as he leaned into the embrace.

“Emily,” he whispered and then his hands landed on hers at his stomach, lacing their fingers together. She left a soft kiss on his shoulderblade and began moving their hands across him in a slow, looping path. He trembled in fits, stuttering out breath that tried for sound but didn’t quite make it. The slow drag of their hands across his pecs made him shiver noticeably and then as she led them down the sides of his abdomen over the muscles that were still too stark despite the weight he’d gained. His fingers tightened on hers when they met at the center of him just above the edge of his dress pants, and when her index finger circled the fine hair there that led downward, he whined her name again. She pushed more firmly into his back feeling her racing heartbeat pound at her throat and in her lips and breasts pressed flush against him. She was getting lost in the feel of it - the warmth, the pressure, his skin under hers as if she owned it. It sent a jolt of heat straight between her thighs and she gasped at the sudden pull there and the instinct to get closer - he just wasn’t close enough.

“Sensate exploration,” he broke the silence shakily as he pushed their hands lower until his waistband impeded them.

“Need to learn what you like,” she scored into his back with her teeth.

“You already know what I like,” he gasped, trying to arch into her mouth and hands at the same time.

“Not everything.”

One of her hands slid away and fingered the button of his pants until it popped free, then slowly, the same hand drew down his fly as he hissed above her. And then she waited.

“My hands?” she asked eventually, and then he tightened his grip in hers and led them down under the hem of his briefs.

“Yes,” he gulped as they outlined him together. He was hot and smooth and impossibly cramped in the confines of his clothes. Her fingertips skimmed over the head and drew wet trails down him as he twitched, and then she squirmed lower circling the base of him and skirting the hair and the tight heat beneath it. He shuffled his legs further apart and growled, clutching her fingers and clamping them around him roughly, trying to still his hips from pumping into their shared grip.

“Ngh,” he muttered, and the sound alone made her wet. In the end, he couldn’t stop his hips and he was hitching gently forward and back.

“H-hands are good…” she gasped.

“Yes.”

“Mouth?”

“Oh Christ, yes…” he whined as a new slickness lined their hands. “But not tonight… I won’t last if you do that. Your mouth is too perfect. So soft… glorious…”

Another rush of heat raced through her and she pressed her breasts into his back until they hurt. She tried to hide a groan between his shoulderblades as her whole body seemed to pulse, and that secret place between her hips pulled downward terribly, wanting, wanting… She thought about his mouth there. She knew how it felt…

“Mouth,” she whined and he eased their stroking as he tried to figure it out. He made an interrogatory sound. “Your mouth… is perfect,” she choked out.

He pulled their hands from him and then broke their embrace too suddenly; she felt bereft and cold for an instant. He began wriggling out of what remained of his clothes, staring back at her like he was lining up a kill shot.

“Take off your pants. Now,” he growled and he was barely free of his by the time hers dropped to the bedroom floor. Then he grabbed her up, taking her mouth hungrily and stumbling them the short distance to the bed. Her calves hit the edge of the mattress and he bumped into her as she stopped, sharp lines and warm skin and leaking need tight against her. 

“Lie down.” His voice reminded her of that dreaded night in Vegas when he was desperate and broken, and it made her feel a little sick that it still turned her on so much, that he still needed her like that.

She did as she was told, and then he was on his knees on the floor pulling her hips to the edge of the bed and nudging her thighs apart. He draped one leg over his shoulder and pushed the other to stretch her wide across the bed and then he ducked forward without any warning and outlined her thoroughly with his tongue. She arched at the sudden contact and knocked her head back into the mattress with a startled yelp. He rumbled a satisfied sound between her legs that vibrated through her to her core.

“Oh _God_ …” she hissed as she grabbed fistfuls of the sheets to anchor herself. He lapped into her greedily as his fingers pinched into her thighs pinning her open to him. She felt his tongue, his lips, the skim of his teeth, the press of his face and his hot breath across her when he backed away to choke down some air. He sucked and pulled, teased and searched as inarticulate sounds burst out of her and she tried every way she could to get him closer. The wet sounds he was making, the mess he was creating between her thighs made her dangerously sensitive everywhere. She rolled her eyes closed and bit her lip to push the feeling back, struggling as her body still arched into his mouth, trying to control what was building because she didn’t want it to happen _this_ way _this_ time. It couldn’t - not like Vegas. She needed more… wanted connection… She started to panic, her breathing becoming too rapid and shallow, and she felt lightheaded. She made a startled sound and clasped his hands peeling them away even as he fought to hold her.

“Spence, stop!”

He let her go immediately, his head popping up looking at her with a blown out expression of lust and anxiety and confusion. She shuffled away from the edge of the bed, away from him, and he backed up suddenly as his confusion turned to terror.

“What, Emily… what did I-”

“Not that way,” she gasped, feeling sluggish with stalled need pulsing through her. “Not… faceless and primal. I need you closer, Spence. I-I… want you in my arms…”

He blinked back his confusion and then changed again. Slouching carefully towards the bed, she watched the tension drain out of him.

“Okay,” he nodded as he gently climbed onto the bed and sat across from her. His cock lay half hard against his thigh and she felt heat rush her face in embarrassment that she couldn’t manage this smoothly, that even after all of this she didn’t know how to be with him without making a mistake.

“Hey, what’s that look for?” He shimmied closer, reaching out to lift her chin gently.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted this to be perfect. A fresh start. But… I’m just being confusing…”

“That’s okay.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear and then stroked her face. “Confusion is a semi-permanent state of being for me, so…” He smirked and then concentrated on the path his hand took as it drifted slowly down her neck and then circled the base of her throat. “I don’t want it to be perfect, Em. I just want it to be real… really _us_ for once, with no grief or guilt or anything else looming over it.”

He shuffled closer, his knees now bumping hers. The fingers at her throat circled and then dipped a thin line down between her breasts. A single fingertip outlined her nipple, flushed dark and proud under his attention. He watched her for a moment and then slowly leaned forward to kiss the swell of her breast that he now cupped in his hand. She let out a sigh as he did it, and then did it again, peering up at her with an impossibly soft expression on his face. She ran one of her hands through his hair and ended up stroking the line of his cheek with her thumb. Then they both leaned in to meet in a kiss. He pushed closer, their lips slipping and slotting together as they both cupped each other. Rising up on his knees he changed their angle and drew her in with one arm slipping around her while his other clutched and stroked her jaw. They broke with a soft pop and a rush of breath, foreheads pressed close and nuzzling each other gently.

His eyes slipped closed and he let out a tremendous sigh. “Do you have any idea _how much_ I love you?”

She focused on his face in the dark and saw a sort of blissfulness there that made her breath catch. _Holy fuck._ He opened his eyes when he heard her and then smiled, pleased at whatever he saw in her in that moment. She’d do anything to make him smile that way.

She kissed him gently, lingering with that smile still on his lips against hers, and then her hand drifted to the center of his chest, skimming his skin with her fingertips.

“Let’s try this again,” she whispered, and then cast her eyes down.

The fingers on his chest moved, trailing lazily over the bumps of his ribs and the flat planes of his stomach. They tickled a circle around his belly button and then skimmed the light hair that led down to his cock. She heard him breathing through his mouth, his forehead still pressed against hers as he watched her hand. She thread her fingers along the crease of his inner thigh, lining it up to his hip and then down again watching as the light touch made his dick twitch. He shifted slightly resettling himself with his legs wider, inviting her to do more but never saying so. She let her fingers dip back down and then inch closer to him, twirling the coarse hair between his legs as she moved. His hand on her jaw tightened and he huffed out a frustrated breath, but remained still. Her index finger found the base of him and circled his shaft first clockwise and then back again. His hips flexed once skimming the underside of his cock against the sheets beneath him as he tried for some friction. His head glistened in the faint light of the room when he moved. Then she slowly drifted just the barest tip of her finger down along the top of his shaft, lifting over the head of him and smearing his wetness in a wide arc. He groaned deep in his chest, now clinging to her desperately by the hold on her jaw and the press of their foreheads. She swallowed hard and took a long breath to calm herself because he was blowing her mind a little with how beautiful he was just then.

“Good?” she whispered, and he nodded, clearly not willing to trust his voice. “May I frustrate you a bit more?” He nodded again and twisted a little to look her in the eye. His gaze was wide, waiting to see what she’d do, but also barely restrained. He breathed shallowly through his mouth and just looked _hungry_ , and the sticky, pulling urge at the center of her reasserted itself.

She licked her lips - wanted to lick his - but settled for brushing her nose against his and then breathing the word, _look._ His eyes shot down again as she withdrew her finger, then dipped her hand into the curls between her thighs. She massaged her mound for a moment, humming as it eased the pull a little, and then she slid a finger across her clit. She was careful just to tease with it, not to get lost in satisfying herself and distracted from where she wanted to go. She heard him groan as he watched her finger circle and dip from view and then his other hand was gripping his thigh leaving pale circles where his fingers bit too sharply into his muscles.

“Hold on,” she warned, and then shifted and curled as she slid two fingers inside herself. She made a little whimper as she fought the urge to close her legs and just ride her fingers, and then she heard Reid whine out her name as he gripped his thigh even tighter. Her free hand landed on his tensed forearm, stroking it as she stroked herself once, twice. Then she removed her fingers drawing them up as they both watched, and then slowly sucking the middle one into her mouth to clean it. He was gasping now, eyes riveted to her mouth as she moaned at the musky taste of herself. Then, after she let the thrill that it gave her ripple down to her cunt, she reached forward and lined the edge of his lower lip with her still glistening index finger. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open waiting for her to give him permission. Then she hissed as she pushed her finger inside and his mouth snapped around it, sucking it gratefully as his eyes slipped closed.

“Mmmm, I do love your mouth,” she murmured as she felt his tongue curl around her finger, sucking urgently while his hips twitched.

As he was distracted, her hand left his thigh and reached down to curl around his cock - not stroking or coaxing, but just holding it. He gasped and released her finger, eyes flicking between her face and the palm wrapped around him. She pushed into him so that when she spoke next her lips were brushing his.

“I’m so ready for this,” she whispered, tongue flicking the lingering taste of her from his lips. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he wheezed. “Please…”

She nipped his mouth, her own pulse throbbing everywhere. Her eyes, her temples, her throat, her breasts, her cunt…

“I want to put you inside me and ride you until we melt. May I do that, Spencer?”

His answer was a desperate grunt that sounded like it hurt, and then he nodded against her violently in case he wasn’t being clear. She made a delighted noise in the back of her throat that came close to being a purr, and then she nipped his mouth one last time as she rose on her knees and held him where he was with a hand on his shoulder. He watched her move, almost awestruck, eyes locked on hers until she shuffled between his folded knees and curled herself to line his cock with her wetness. He puffed out a breath and then looked down, watched her other hand stroke him and then press over the head of him to focus his attention. 

“Straighten your legs,” she whispered, and he shifted until she could straddle him, his hands now gripping her ass to help her with balance. Then she lined him up and settled over him until only the tip slipped inside. She held still like that and marinated in the way he breathed roughly against her shoulder and he thrummed under her hand as she refused to go any further.

“More?”

“Yes,” he gritted through his teeth. She slid a fraction more of him into her and then stopped. His hands tried to pull her down but she held her ground and twisted around him with a contented hum.

“More?”

“Ah,” was all he managed.

She smiled against his ear and took him in quickly and completely, both of them groaning before she retreated again to where he was barely inside her.

“Remember how you made me come in Houston just by dragging your cock into me? Jesus… I’ve never come like that before… didn’t know I could.” 

She bounced shallowly on his cock giving them the slightest friction, the barest movement, never going deep. Inside she ached, straining uselessly for him while she teased, but whatever moved her to take it in this direction had more control over her. It felt like the power she’d been lacking throughout their entire relationship. She was the one finally calling the shots and that should have been satisfying, a vindication of everything she’d been through. But it was oddly _less_ … like she needed something else now. He hissed her name into her shoulder chasing it with his teeth - a warning. Then without notice she slid down him fully again feeling the ache inside her sing out a note of pleasure when he filled her. But she pulled back again, although half heartedly this time.

“Emily…” His hands bit into her painfully. “Do you want me to come from teasing or f-fucking?”

His mouth tripped over the word that he rarely used and it drew her eyes to him as he looked up at her, pleading. “Let me… make love to you.” 

His voice ached and his expression was an open cry to have her. _Oh. Oh, yes._ She let herself sink down onto him and made that her answer as she closed her eyes, buried her face in his neck and wrapped him close in her arms. _Closer… come closer._ He sighed and turned to kiss into her hair, rocking them slowly with the hands that cradled her. She thought she heard him whisper, “Thank you” but it was lost in the gentle creasing of the sheets, the skim of their skin as they moved, and the occasional tick of a bedspring.

He set up a gentle rhythm with his hips but his hands drew her down as he drove up, and soon they were hitching and gasping against each other. He arched his neck against her cheek, a small hint that said _there_ and she responded by sucking him until she felt the rapid beat of his carotid under her lips. Then she remembered the hickey he’d worn into the office when he was spiraling out of control, and she sunk her teeth in for a vicious bite that made him flinch. It would leave a mark; _MINE_ , it would say, and unlike that anonymous woman, she meant it. He thrust into her hard in response making her gasp away with a pop of suction.

“Feel better now?” he asked. He knew exactly what she was doing.

“You deserve it.”

He groaned as if it were the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. “And I’m so happy that I do.” And the pull inside her got stronger.

His hand skimmed along her calf and tugged it forward to wrap around his waist. She went with him as he maneuvered them, losing some of her control but sinking deeper into his pelvis with a moan that was half him and half her. _God, that’s it… closer._ It placed their rhythm entirely in his control with nothing for her to do but ride it out. But the stretch it produced, the ache when he curled and went deeper than she thought he could, left her clinging to him with heated gasps that begged him for more. Just _more._

“Beautiful woman,” he hushed into her skin as he pushed harder. She felt his arms crawl up her back pulling her as close as he could, his hands trying to hold all of her at once. “Too beautiful to believe… fell so hard when you kissed me that first time… when you held me close.”

“Oh, Spence,” she whimpered, and it felt as though her whole body tried to pull him in.

They were so wet where they connected and it was wrecking her when he rocked into her. A buzz was smoldering at the base of her spine, lighting off sparks randomly when he hitched a little deeper or skimmed an oversensitive part of her with the warmth of his hands. She started bouncing, as much as she was able, just to get a little more of that buzz, to send the burn deeper. He picked up speed, his breath coming shorter, and as he did his movements got reckless. He pushed hard into her every third or fourth stroke, producing a feral grunt from him each time and making her body ache as if it couldn’t take anymore from him. But she wanted more, all of it, anything he had, and so she tried to relax into it when he ramped up. She tried to soften her thighs, open herself up to the assault, controlling her breath and keeping a handle on the smoldering buzz…

He felt the shift and drew his lips up to her ear. “W-what… what are you…”

“Need more… when you go deep…” Her fingers tangled in his hair and she sunk as bonelessly as she could manage into one of his thrusts with a soft ‘oh’. “Want you as close as I can get.”

“ _Emily_ ,” he whined and then his arms clamped around her and pulled her down, out of rhythm, hard. It lit her up like she’d plugged herself in and she cried out a sore “Yes!” and then mumbled a litany of half articulated encouragement as her hands pulled his hair too tight.

He thrust up into her sharply again and again and again. It was less a rhythm and more an assault but he was mumbling the whole time and the words were soft and reverent like the lightest kisses.

“Gorgeous… radiant… stunning woman… you are… the rightest person I’ve… I’ve ever known… so lost in you… so lost…”

The buzz exploded into heat and sparks so bright she felt like metal grating on metal: an impossible, superheated friction with startling luminosity. She murmured something delicate and vulnerable into the skin of his shoulder, then willed her body to be equally vulnerable as she gave up her last inch of control. She sunk into him, went liquid and opened herself up. _Give in, give up, let go…_ She clutched her arms tight around his shoulders and gave herself over to becoming an extension of him. When she moved her face against his neck, she left a wet smear on it, and she felt him gasp when he noticed it.

“I’ve got you, love…” he whimpered as he strained to keep them going. “I’ll never… never let you down again…”

His words tore through her, ripping her open in that place that pulled and ached for him so relentlessly, but as they passed they left behind a liquid, golden luxuriousness that seeped from the wound. She sunk under it with a huge gasp, riding the heat and the expanding pleasure of it until tears skimmed down her face. It was delicious, scorching, a seemingly endless ripple of strain and release, strain and release, and she melted into him, around him, closer than she ever thought she’d get.

She held on, her whimpers turning to stuttered gasps as she slowly came back down and he continued pumping persistently. She tried to hold him close, to tell her blissed out muscles to save her from sliding out of their heated, slick tangle. He was moving so fast now, mindlessly fucking her as his intellect checked out and he strained desperately to join her. He was making small, painful whimpers that cranked her rudely open and sent heat through her at the same time. She was so sated by them, so close to him in that moment that his struggle and her joy mixed into something volatile that choked her lungs and stung her eyes as she clamped them closed and buried her face in his neck again. The tears still slipped freely, slicking her cheek to his throat as he hitched under her.

“Love you,” she sobbed just once into his skin, gripping him as close as she dared.

He pulled her face away to look at her. His gaze was blown with lust, cheeks red from effort, hair tangled and damp at his forehead and temples. He breathed hard, still rolling them, but his thumb wiped at her tears and his expression melted.

“Emily… Oh,” he whispered, and then made a desperate cry as he thrust, his brow creasing as he strained and throbbed into her over and over. He pulsed and fought, trying to ease them down but it ripped through him brutally and she made little sore whines until he slowly subsided.

“Spence…” she moaned, and then repeated it until the sound became meaningless, tracing it across his heated skin with her lips.

He sagged against her, forehead pressed under her chin, nose smooshed uncomfortably into her throat.

“Ugh,” he grunted eloquently, and she hummed, cuddling him close with arms still locked around his neck. He softened inside her and they were sticky and smeared, but she made no effort to move, just soaking up the moment of their quiet breathing, still wrapped up in each other. Eventually his arms stroked her back, caressed her neck, and then he leaned back and brushed her hair away to look her in the eye.

“You okay?” he croaked and seemed to be on the verge of tears himself. She gave him a brilliant smile and nuzzled his nose with hers. “Hey,” she said back, and he grinned but a tear showed up anyway. She dipped in and kissed it. “Boot to the damned head,” she murmured, and coughed out a laugh. Then they gingerly disentangled themselves.

He loped unsteadily off to the bathroom and eventually came back with a towel and cloth in hand, blushing furiously as he silently tried to clean most of the mess from her. She watched him with a curl to her mouth, still too worked out to do much else. He tossed the towels aside when he was done and nudged her up the bed, sliding in close and drawing the sheets around them. _Taking care of her._ He spooned against her back, arms looped over her waist, and breathed into the crook between her neck and shoulder.

“Emily,” he hummed, kissing her shoulder and then pressing his cheek against her like a cat. Neither one of them asked if she would stay the night.

Her arms bracketed his and she sunk into the pillows. She meant to say something meaningful, something thankful, but within minutes they were both asleep curled up together like ribbons.

\----

She awoke just before dawn and had an instant of foggy confusion before she turned and saw Reid deep in the pillows beside her, mouth open and lightly snoring. His entire being was a tangle around her - hair, fingers, arms, legs - all curled like some sort of sleepy octopus. She felt a deep sense of fluid calm as she watched him sleep, the dim light erasing some of his lines and making him look younger, a little closer to the almost-boy she’d met so many years before. She remembered how nervous he was then, how he always bristled with energy that lived on the razor’s edge between excitement and terror. It should have annoyed her, made her feel unsteady working beside him, but it always invigorated her, and in time, it came to charm her. But he wasn’t that guy anymore, and she knew that if he’d stayed that way, she’d have still cared for him but they never would’ve ended up here.

She looked at his lax features: the shadowed eyes, the impossible cheekbones, the strong jaw with the faintest hint of stubble, the mouth that changed his whole being when he grinned. He was beautiful in a way that most men shied away from - not handsome, but beautiful. Almost delicately so, and she wondered if that was partly why she’d always moved to protect him. Because if there was one thing she utterly understood now it was that Reid was no longer a boy and he was so much stronger than his physique suggested. She still wanted to protect him, but she also wanted to find shelter in him. She lay there and wondered how much change a person was capable of accepting. Could she give him room to exercise the strength he’d earned through his experiences, and could she let herself go, let herself trust that he’d be there to catch her this time no matter what? Christ, how had she let herself fall for such a complicated person?

Her hand drifted up and gently drew a tangle away from his face. She let her fingertips fall to him, outlining the side of his face, the sharp angles of his chin, and down his throat. Her attention moved to the dark bruise, visible even in the thin light, on his neck, and she circled it over and over licking her lips and feeling a warm rush of _MINE_ that could only exist for this version of him. He shifted a little and when she looked up he was watching her, eyes half-lidded but focused, and then she felt the warmth of his fingers skimming along her thigh under the sheets. She wiggled a little closer on the pillow, still watching him, and then she stretched until their lips met, soft and unhurried. He kissed her back still warm and lazy with sleep, and then kissed her, and kissed her until there was nothing but their slowly moving hands and broken breath rolling together under the covers. She let him in and he accepted, gently and thoroughly, and it turned into something soft and languid. He lost himself in her hair, her mouth, her neck, the dark valley of her breasts, and she thread herself through his need, becoming a part of it, and moaning contentedly when he finally pushed into her and they moved together as if they were always meant to be like this.

It wasn’t like the previous night. It wasn’t all painful urgency and raw declarations. It was gentle and quiet, with hitching smiles buried against warm, cinched skin and an undulating rhythm that they built together and unspooled meticulously. When he eventually grasped her wrists and pushed them back into the mattress beside her head, staring down at her like her presence had utterly broken him, she came with a surprised burst, her eyes going wide and her thighs curling to draw him in. His gaze got glassy as he watched her, a crease forming between his brows as he fought, and then lost, grunting her name like it was a substitute for ‘love’ and then filling her with it. Their hips circled in a gentle, sticky mess until it ended, and then he slipped out of her rubbing her back and panting against her head as she kissed the sweat from his pecs. And then there was nothing but them breathing and existing just to lie in each other’s arms.

When Prentiss came back to earth again, she rolled to catch sight of his clock on the bedside table. And then she nearly had a heart attack.

“Oh shit!” She launched herself out of the tangle of sheets and upright so quickly that she instantly got lightheaded. She stumbled around for her clothes and demanded that she _not pass out._

“What?” he croaked behind her.

“I have one hour to race back to my place, get cleaned up and changed, and then drive like a demon to Quantico for the morning meeting. And I don’t have a fucking flying car.”

She shrugged into her shirt while holding her bra. She looked around but couldn’t find her panties anywhere. Fuck it, she’d go commando.

“Oh,” he said quietly as she hopped into her pants. He sounded upset but she just _didn’t have time_. She hadn’t planned on an hour’s worth of glorious, lazy morning sex. She made one last frantic twirl of the bedroom and then grabbed her shoes dashing through the door with a “I’ll call you later” thrown over her shoulder. She made it to his living room, crammed on her shoes and found her bag and phone before it struck her right between the eyes. Then she raced back to the bedroom and to his confused, rumpled self.

“Shit,” she grumbled as she kneed onto the bed and grabbed his jaw for a deep kiss. “Love you,” she panted when they broke apart, his expression halfway between shock and laughter, then she leapt off the bed, skidded through the doorway again, and let herself out with a slam and a burst of speed to the stairwell.

\----

She was indeed late for the meeting, and her outer armor was far from perfect. She apologized for making everyone wait and then asked Garcia to begin. J.J.’s eyes flicked all over her, picking up each inconsistency and cataloging it in a way to be easily referenced when she pinned Prentiss somewhere later and asked about it. Internally, Prentiss rolled her eyes but also felt a little giddy.

Ten minutes into their current case review, her phone vibrated.

**Reid: I’m sorry I made you late this morning.**

She hid her smile entirely and tried to focus on Lewis’s report. Her phone buzzed again and she slipped it off the conference table and into her lap instead.

**Reid: Maybe I’m not that sorry.**

_Buzzzzzzzzz_

**Reid: Alright, I rescind my previous apologies. I’m not sorry at all and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.**

_Buzzzzzzzz_ Honestly, he was just ridiculous.

**Reid: I’d like to do it again. Soon.**

She felt her skin warm and then told her mature, professional self to _cut. it. out._

**Prentiss: In a briefing rite now!**

Her phone was quiet against her thigh for ten minutes. She almost forgot about it and then… _Buzzzzzzz_

**Reid: sorry. really this time.**

She could practically hear him pouting and it sent a tiny spurt of panic through her. For all of their years together, this was still achingly new to them both. She couldn’t fuck it up - they’d never get it back on the rails if she did. Her thumb moved across the screen as her eyes flicked between it and J.J. talking about necrophilia.

**Prentiss: When can I c u again?**

She found herself biting her lip as she waited. _Buzzzzzzzzz_

**Reid: Anytime. Tonight?**

**Prentiss: Depends. What’s for dinner?**

**Reid: I’ll surprise you. Find another formula that will blow your mind.**

**Prentiss: Start calling them recipes, you weirdo. I’ll see you later.**

**Reid: Can’t wait :)**

There, that was better. And she wasn’t even all that concerned that reassuring him had produced a weird floaty feeling in the center of her chest.

After they’d prioritized the presented cases and everyone had assignments for the day, Prentiss headed back to her office when J.J. jogged up beside her.

“What’s up with you?” she squinted critically. “You actually yawned at the mention of a fetishizing necrophiliac. That’s juicy stuff for us.”

“Sorry. Late night last night.”

J.J. cataloged all of her anachronisms again and then waggled her eyebrows. “With anyone I know?”

Prentiss felt her face blush and then J.J.’s expression turned from teasing to stunned in a second. They were outside her office and J.J. unceremoniously pushed Prentiss in and then shut the door securely behind them.

“Really???” she gasped. “Because I was kinda half joking. It’s been almost a month since he got out… I just assumed you guys had discussed it already and decided not to try.”

“Well, we’re trying,” Prentiss offered up a wary smile because she didn’t know if J.J. was still behind this or not. “After last night, we’re _really_ trying.”

J.J. whooped and then tackled Prentiss in a hug that completely out-scaled her tiny frame. “Oh, Emily… I’m so happy for you two. So happy.” She sounded a bit watery against Prentiss.

“I-I’m happy too.” Prentiss felt watery as well. And slightly overwhelmed. “Like _dangerously_ happy. I don’t know if this is normal o-or some sort of manic state while I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s a little fucking scary, Jen. We’ve screwed this up so many times already.”

“Nothing’s gonna drop.” J.J. pulled back and gave her an incredible grin. “You two have been through so much bullshit… do you really think he’s got any stupid secrets left that you can’t handle?”

“No, but we could still fuck it up. You know, garden variety relationship fuck-ups.”

“Well, if you do, work it the hell out like the rest of us.” J.J. jabbed a finger into Prentiss’s shoulder to emphasize her point. “Christ, I’m so fucking invested in a happily ever after for you two idiots, you ARE NOT letting me down this time.”

Prentiss felt scolded and imagined that she wore an expression similar to Henry’s whenever J.J. caught him in the act. “Okay then…” she mumbled, but honestly felt a little better about the whole thing. J.J. was in their corner. That was important.

J.J. nodded and then broke out her grin again. She made a victorious fistpump that forced a cackle out of Prentiss, and then she winked and skipped a little as she exited Prentiss’s office to get on with her day. Prentiss’s smile, and her tender new sense of wellbeing, remained long after J.J. left, and she sent out a silent thank you for having the gift of amazing people in her life.


	8. Distortion

So, they pushed on and managed to keep things on the rails. Prentiss developed a slightly pervy kink for Reid’s cooking. In the beginning it was just a fun game they played: he tried out new recipes on her and it became foreplay wrapped up in both his new mission to look after her and the obvious physical pleasure he got from watching her eat. But by the time he’d found the confidence to branch out into obscure ethnic dishes or worked through the more challenging entries in _The Joy of Cooking_ , all he had to do was mention that he’d traded some grading time for a colleague’s secret family recipe for rouladen or beef Wellington and she’d be turned on. And four months in, when he’d announced he was going to try his hand at desserts, she had to increase her weekly workout schedule to offset both the sexual energy and the results of his culinary magic.

And it was magic in other ways too. It was going well - better than she expected - when they were together. But, in time, the _when they were together_ part started to become an issue. As she’d initially thought, their competing careers and schedules made finding time for each other a constant balancing act. She missed him on the team, the lack of his unique insights and perspective obvious no matter how many bright new hires she made. And the distance she felt when she was gone for a lengthy case only to come back and discover that he was in a late staff meeting in Maryland or in his physics study group prepping for mid-terms or just mired in his own grading that reduced him to monosyllables over the phone. It was hard to know how to feel. He was sinking into his new life with abandon, excitedly talking about the things he was learning, the friends he’d made at Johns Hopkins, the students that frustrated or impressed him, and she watched as he slowly began to shirk the worry and concern that had pressed in on him over twelve years with the Bureau. She couldn’t begrudge that because it made him lighter, younger, and so much more alive than he was before. It made her love him more. 

But it was also drawing him away from her. They began to spend more time texting than talking. And the excuses started to pile up.

**Reid: Rossi and I are in the zone with the chapter we’re working on. Rain check tonight? I’m sorry :(**

**Reid: I’m so happy you’re home! At an NA meeting - didn’t know you’d be back tonight. Can we meet after? Or tomorrow? Want to hear about the case.**

**Reid: Ugh, staff meeting is endless. Don’t wait on me to eat - have no clue when this will be over.**

**Reid: Sorry about last night. Didn’t think I’d be grading until 3am. Lost track of time. How angry are you?**

**Reid: Have to cancel. Midterms are imminent and Avram is freaking out. Sorry + love you.**

**Reid: Ummm, so got roped into baking cupcakes with J.J. for Henry’s bake sale. Not what we had planned, I know, but join us?**

**Reid: Can’t swing by tonight. Have another early meeting tomorrow. Can we do the movie next week instead?**

**Reid: Are you in town? Are you alright? Haven’t heard from you in a while. Miss you.**

The amalgam of excuses and the time slipping past them built a growing wave of dread in her. It was happening. Slowly. Any time she thought about it for too long or tried to find a way back to where they started out from, the dread mutated into something poisonous and sticky that coated her insides for days and made her feel like she was trying to breathe through tar. She didn’t want him to be less than he was - never - but the fear that what had held them passionately together all that time had been the job and their proximity and not _them_ was gradually coalescing into a reality. And the real problem with that was he might be drifting away and needing her less, but that wasn’t happening to her. She still wanted him passionately, deeply, _mindlessly_ , and it never lessened even with increasing distance. When the end came and he decided to move on, it was going to snap her into pieces that would never fit together again. She was irretrievably lost. She’d surrendered her control and look at what it had gotten her? And perhaps the worst part of it was, when they did manage to eek out some time together, it was still so raw; his attention was almost magnetic, and for those brief hours or days she would convince herself that she’d overreacted. They’d work it out. Just a bump in the road. How could it be going wrong when it felt _this good?_ She clung to those moments, held them close, but it often felt like snatches of a relationship. It was hard to build an everyday familiarity when they were apart so much. 

And then he’d be gone again, unavailable because of meetings and commitments, or she’d wing off to some hideous case across the country and be completely embroiled in someone else’s tragedy. She’d return tired and bruised and resentful, and he just wasn’t there for whatever reason. It was always valid and acceptable except when it wasn’t. Like when the nightmares of dead children woke her in a soggy mess of her bedding alone in the stillness of her condo, or when the annoying political bullshit of the Bureau made her want to go on a shooting spree and he just nodded in a distracted way stirring his latest creation on the stove while she told him about it. It ground her down, making her sad and snappish sometimes spoiling the precious time they had together. He often seemed puzzled by her moods, as if the separation had no effect on him whatsoever. 

She wasn’t perfect either, keeping more of her traumas and doubts to herself, but she somehow thought they’d last longer than this, make a greater effort after everything they’d been through. When their first anniversary came around, they had keys to each other’s places and a handful of belongings in the other’s apartment, but they still lived across town from each other, and really, none of that had changed from when they started. She felt like she had fallen and this time he caught her like he promised he would, but it wasn’t forever. She began to think she was lucky she’d had him for as long as she did. He’d loved her while he was healing and that was almost done. Apparently she’d fallen into fixing him again. It wasn’t really his fault that she couldn’t adjust to being unnecessary now that he was better.

His friends from the physics program he was in - for once all younger and more bookish than him - seemed wary of her. She’d met them many times and they were outwardly friendly but they isolated themselves from her with jargon and ‘in-group’ behavior that made it clear that she wasn’t one of them. And sometimes she thought she downright scared them. She showed up at his place one evening just as their study group was wrapping up and as she shuffled around making herself comfortable she removed her badge and holster, casually slipping them into her purse when she heard a gasp. Avram and Priya’s eyes were locked on her bag. The others stopped to notice.

“You have a gun,” Avram murmured as neutrally as he could, and she could feel something odd ripple through the rest of them. She froze for a moment.

“She’s FBI.” Reid broke the silence and when she looked at him he was beaming with pride at her, but it didn’t translate to the others. The group ended quickly then as twentysomething scientists fumbled for their coats and tried not to look the armed woman in the eye as they left.

“They’re afraid,” she said when they were alone. “Why didn’t you tell them what I did?”

“It never came up,” he kissed her temple, not seeing anything wrong with any of it. And then she wondered _why_ it never came up. Because although being a former FBI agent would always be a part of Reid, he seemed to be stretching farther from it every day. He didn’t talk about it because it wasn’t relevant anymore. It made her wonder how much longer _she_ would be relevant in the new life he was creating.

That night he fixed her one of her favorites - ping gai with handmade spring rolls - and she knew what was coming next.

“I have some grading to do,” he said sheepishly as he soaked the dishes. Then he hazarded a careful look at her up through his lashes. “Do you mind? It shouldn’t take long…”

She shrugged and smiled in a way that convinced him she was fine with it while a part of her died inside. _I need you so much and you’re slipping away. Sometimes I wish I didn’t love you like this._

They settled into bed together, him with a laptop and a stern teacherly gaze, and her with a book, and she _hoped._ But when she woke with a start, the bedroom lit by the glow of his laptop and he passed out with his glasses still on, she saw the bedside clock read 4:14 am. She sighed with useless anger, removed his glasses, and then rolled over and buried her face in her pillow willing herself _not_ to think.

Rising before dawn, she shut herself into the bathroom to stew. Sleep hadn’t dulled her dread like it usually did. Her perspective felt oddly warped. Her skin was alive with heat and a sort of pointless static electricity that made her feel dangerous and ignitable. She scratched herself as she cycled through anger, fear, resentment, affection, lust, and then back to anger again, and then she decided she needed to shower it all off her. She made the spray as hot as she could handle and just stood there and let it sear her. _Fuck you, Spencer Reid. Why have you done this? And fuck me for allowing you to…_

She didn’t know how long she’d been in there letting the water pound away her misery when the shower door opened and he stood staring at her just outside the ring of steam.

“I… ummm,” He was blushing, naked, and she hated herself a little when a part of her that should’ve been angry with him sat up and said _‘hello’_ instead. “I have an early meeting…”

Of course he did, she snapped internally.

“I, uh… I can’t wait.”

She sighed and let him languish under her gaze a moment longer, then she shuffled aside to make room. “Well, get in here then.”

His blush got deeper and he swallowed once and tried to hide the fact that his eyes ran down her body before he stepped in and closed the door. She didn’t understand the bashfulness - it wasn’t as if any inch of her was new to him. She also didn’t question why she no longer pressed him about what sort of meeting he was going to, or that he didn’t notice that she no longer made a fuss about them.

He slipped under the spray, wetting his hair and slicking it away from his face with a soft moan at the hot water. While his eyes were closed she watched the water slide down over him, his angles and thinness still beautiful to her. Always beautiful… She licked her lips and felt the electric pricking along her skin again. He opened his eyes and watched her carefully, reaching for the soap.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he murmured eventually, quickly rubbing the creamy froth over him and then offering her the bottle. “I didn’t think it would take so long.”

“Well, that’s a day ending in ‘y’ for us, isn’t it?” She couldn’t help the sharpness in her words, then she turned away from him quickly because she didn’t want to see his reaction. “Stop apologizing.” It didn’t help anyway.

She heard him sigh over the hiss of the water. “I mean it, Emily.”

“I know you do.” She closed her eyes and gave herself permission to feel the loneliness in that. She knew in that moment, that he really was sorry. He just wouldn’t stay that way.

His hand landed on her upper arm and just held it. Her whole body reacted out of proportion: it was as if she’d been doused in something dangerous and then set on fire with a careless flick. She breathed out through her mouth and thought, _what the hell is happening right now?_

“Hey, look at me…” he said gently, and all she could think was _nononono… can’t look… can’t let you see… something wild has taken me and I’m not sure what it is… fuck_. Her anger and resentment and sorrow mixed into a powerful flush that rocked her from top to bottom. She reached out a hand to steady herself against the shower wall. 

_What the HELL is happening?!?_

She wanted him and it was physically painful, urgent. He could’ve been a lamppost or a mailbox or a vending machine and she still would’ve wanted him. She felt completely deranged by it.

_Oh man, that’s so not fair…_

She handed the soap back over her shoulder, refusing to look at him. “Make yourself useful,” she gasped. “Get my back, would you?”

He made a strange noise but took the bottle anyway. Then his hands where gently smoothing foam along her spine, long fingers pressing softly into muscles, skimming up to her shoulders and kneading into the back of her neck how he knew she liked. Nothing about his touch was remotely inappropriate, he didn’t venture anywhere suggestive, and yet she was _on fire_. Her fingers squeaked against the shower tiles struggling to give her some control, and then she lost it and trembled violently under his hands.

“Emily… what-” He sounded worried.

“Get it everywhere,” she breathed out and then turned to face the tiled wall, now using both hands to brace herself. She spread her stance like she was about to be frisked and arched her back just enough to tense her muscles, lend a fetching curve to her hips as she presented herself. It wasn’t even remotely subtle and her face flamed, but the whole thing seemed out of her control at that point. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a spot.”

His hands disappeared and she heard his breath turn sharp and confused behind her. She just leaned her forehead into the tiles and huffed deep and low. She arched herself even more, feeling the soapy foam run down her and pool a little in the dip at the base of her spine.

“Please,” she breathed and hated how it sounded. She was supposed to be angry. She was supposed to be ferocious and brave and demand that he do better - that _they_ do better. She didn’t want to be this needy, weak thing.

His hands returned to her, slick with soap but hesitant. He did her back again with the same careful sweeps. Then he skimmed them around her waist, lightly brushing watery soap over her belly and up along the dip of her hips. She just breathed and arched, waiting. His hands circled for a moment, still uncertain, and then they moved up and caught her breasts that felt hard and tight as her pulse skipped. His fingers slicked over her, cupping her, letting the shape of her rest in his palms, and then the pads of his fingers flicked over her nipples and she moaned shamefully. His breath caught and then his hands slid away again. She bit her lip and tried to swallow down how she mindlessly ached _everywhere_. It was crazy and it scared her.

He didn’t touch her or make a sound behind her for ages. She was too lost in the chaos her body had suddenly inflicted on her to be concerned. She was trying to work up the wherewithal to deal with this if he wouldn’t, and it certainly seemed as if it were heading in that direction. She could get angry about it later. Then there was a splash, like a footstep, and his hands were back, newly soaped and far more forceful.

“Emily, what’s going on?” he rumbled into her ear as his hands kneaded her breasts until she keened. His forearms pressed into her skin so that if her arms gave way on her, he’d prevent her from falling. They were warm and soapy and she could feel his muscles moving as he worked his hands. She arched her spine as sharply as she could until her ass brushed him and she moaned. It was just the barest touch but she knew he’d only keep himself that far away from her if he was turned on and confused by it.

“Jesus, Spencer…” she gasped almost too softly to be heard over the spray, pressing her cheek against the tiles to try stalling the flush that was ruining her. “Just… get inside me. Now. _fuck…_ ”

He stilled for an instant, and she whined. Then he pressed her flat against the shower wall, her hands slipping away and relying on his arms to hold her steady. One arm crossed her torso and pulled her against him as the other braced their weight to the wall. He lined her from thigh to shoulder, muscles tense, warm and soapy against her back. She bumped him with her ass, in what little room he gave her to move - _Get on with it_ \- and she felt him shift and the hard length of him skipped against her leg and bounced between her thighs. She bumped her ass again, adding a hiss of anticipation to it, and his hips twitched causing him to brush her accidentally. Her whole body acted like a trap trying to snap at an elusive prey.

“Spencer!” she shouted, _done_ with enduring her riotous body.

He bent his knees and pushed into her unceremoniously with a grunt. Then he straightened and pushed her up the shower wall in the process until she was balanced on her toes. He pumped into her, hard and fast, fucking her and fucking her like it was all he knew how to do. And she was pinned there between him and the wall, slick skin squeaking as his thrusts squished her against the tiles and her toes scrabbling when she lost her footing, just floating in his grip, on his cock. She was pierced by it: the explosion of the ache inside her as she clutched him, the strain of him pushing into her too hard, too fast, too deep. Their slick skin, their strangled breath, his mouth next to her ear as he grunted, the painful pinging of her clit and her nipples that she couldn’t reach and ease, the way she whined for him canting her hips so that she took more, the involuntary growl he made when her mind checked out and her mouth spewed forth a gust of depravity begging him to take her and finish it…

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What are we doing? How does this solve anything? How can I have a serious conversation about how we’re failing after I’ve done THIS?_

_Maybe this is survival mode… maybe you’re trying to keep him with sex… if the love fades but he still wants your body… you’ve done that before._

“Fuck, Emily… Fuck!” he shouted without hesitation, and it rang off the hard surfaces of the shower. His face was hooked over her shoulder, chin digging into her painfully with his cheek pressed against hers. He was barely remembering to breathe, doing it in fitful bursts that turned his face red. His eyes were clamped shut - it looked as painful for him as it felt to her. He rocked into her hard and then grabbed her hip and twisted her around his cock, and she scrabbled against the tiles at the sudden sensation, opened her mouth and yowled. Her thighs cramped as her entire body contorted, her knees bashing into the shower wall as she tried to bend her legs, to curl around his dick. He spasmed and she felt it deep within her, the frazzled, frantic twitching of overstimulated nerves and muscles, and the exhausted burst as he filled her, and the whine as he worked it until his body gave up. Fast and hard and brutal, and then it was over. Just over, like clouds passing above a landscape.

He continued pressing them hard against the wall to stay upright, gasping into her neck like he was dying. She felt limp and bruised everywhere, her booming pulse the only sign that she was actually still functioning. He slid out of her with a hiss, lowering her until she had her feet under her again, but still holding them steady. They just leaned there, breathing hard, the shower spray now lukewarm at their backs. Something trickled down her thigh and her brain roared to life again with a loud, feral _MINE_ that made her gasp.

Fuck. She was so totally fucking fucked up about this.

“What… was that?” he gulped once he managed to get a handle on his respiratory system again.

“Shower sex,” she huffed and wriggled to get free of the pinch between the wall and him. He let her go and didn’t say anything as she slid under the shower spray and gave herself a hasty once over. When she turned to face him he was fucked out and leaning against the tiles, his face worried like she just told him she had a fatal disease.

“No, it wasn’t,” he murmured. “It was something far more serious.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” she shrugged. _Coward_ , her mind hissed now that it was hers again and not some backseat driver to her limbic system. She gave him a blank look. “Don’t you have an early meeting? Better get to it…”

He stood up straight, his eyebrows lowering as he frowned. He was about to say something when she stepped away to the door. “Don’t want to make you late,” she smiled quickly and then slipped out, closing the door quietly behind her.

_I’m not running away. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t look panicked… I’m fine._

Totally fucked.

\-----

**Prentiss: I’m sorry if I unsettled you this morning. I was feeling odd and I guess it showed.  
…  
…  
Reid: I’m not upset, just concerned. I know we haven’t seen much of each other lately.   
Reid: I just want to know if you’re all right or not.  
Prentiss: I’m fine, babe.  
Reid: If something were wrong, you’d come to me with it, wouldn’t you?  
…  
Prentiss: I love you  
Reid: Love you too, beautiful.  
Reid: Come over tonight? No grading or meetings or study groups - I promise. Just you, me, and some ossobuco.  
…  
Prentiss: I’d love that but I have a report due to the Director’s office and I’m coming down to the wire with the deadline. Maybe in a day or two? I’m so sorry.  
Reid: That’s ok. No problem. It’s about time you got to use the paperwork excuse on me ;) Text you later.  
Prentiss: ;-***

 

She stared at the messages while her mind whispered, _Coward._ She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t look him in the eye and say things were fine and that what happened in the shower was a weird hormonal one-off. And she also couldn’t bear to crack in front of him, to let him see how much this was breaking her and then watch him jump through hoops to try to stop it from happening. Because she was sure it was going to happen. She just needed a day or two to craft a new mask to wear, that’s all.

She put her phone in her bag and finished up the report she was working on. She was out of the office by six, home by seven, curled up on the couch and numb as she marathoned reruns of _Law & Order_ on Netflix. She went to bed at a reasonable hour and didn’t think about him at all.

_You’re a goddamned coward._

\-----

“Hey, Detective Greiss says there’s an amazing diner not far from here. He’s taking us for pulled pork sandwiches. Wanna come?” J.J. popped her head into the cluttered office the Austin police had given to them for the case. She raised her eyebrows hopefully.

Prentiss looked up and immediately had to freeze her expression when her stomach lurched and growled at the same time. She swallowed carefully and shook her head. She loved pulled pork but the idea of stepping within twenty feet of a smoker made her knees watery. And the crazy part was that she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. This case was obviously messing with her head, and she was tired and achy to boot.

“Nah,” she shrugged congenially. “Think I’ll just plow through these victim blog entries while I have a second wind. You guys go - let me know if it lives up to Greiss’s hype.”

“Have you eaten today?” J.J.’s brow furrowed with ‘mom-ness’. Prentiss shrugged, tabbing to more Facebook posts about craft beer, bluegrass hip hop (whatever that was), and strident, uninformed rants about politics. She decided that she officially disliked this victim and was personally appalled at her lack of empathy for someone who’d died horribly. She couldn’t seem to dig up any sorrow for this person at all and that wasn’t like her; the feeling was very distracting.

“You okay?” J.J. persisted, now pushing into the room. “You’ve been weird lately. Like you’re… cocooning or something…” J.J.’s hands made strange swirly movements in the air. Prentiss just stared at her and her hands, utterly confused. That was happening a lot lately as well: a sort of brain fog that blew in and then blew out just as quickly.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said honestly.

“It’s like you’re curling into yourself, but in a distracted way, not on purpose. And you’re zoning out way more often than a woman of your intelligence is allowed to.”

“Really?” Prentiss thought it was only obvious to her. J.J. nodded. “Is it affecting my work? Be honest.”

“Not really.” J.J.’s expression softened. “I’m just worried. Are you okay, hon? Are things okay at home?”

By ‘home’ J.J. was referring to Reid and things were definitely not okay there. And he wasn’t ‘home’ because if he was she’d be considerably less distracted and probably have a better handle on what was happening between them. But she was pretending everything was fine, even to herself, because she’d developed an almost pathological fear of confronting the problem. She didn’t want to admit that they were failing: that they had survived bullets and psychopaths, death and addiction and bonehead decisions, only to have the chemistry of _them_ be the thing that they couldn’t handle. She also didn’t want to trigger another shower-like event, because sometimes when she was around him now she was shivery and ravenous and absolutely terrified by that abject, uncontrollable need. But maybe the ‘cocooning’ J.J. saw was the stress of that deception catching up with her. It had only been six weeks, but she knew she couldn’t stall the inevitable forever.

“I have been feeling a little weird lately,” she admitted with a sigh, trying to be as truthful as she could be without dragging J.J. into her relationship swamp. “Maybe my hormone levels are starting to head south on me.”

She smirked and J.J. smirked back. “You’re not _that_ old, woman. You have plenty of years left to aggressively chase us down for outstanding reports every twenty-eight days.”

Prentiss cackled and it felt so good, as if she hadn’t done it in ages.

“Maybe you just need a vacation. Take Spence someplace too hot to wear clothes and you’ll be forced to constantly slather him in sunscreen.” J.J. waggled her eyebrows.

“Right,” Prentiss rolled into more laughter. “You draft a memo to all the killers in America asking them to cool it for a week while I run around the tropics listening to genius lectures on melanoma, hepatitis infection rates, and bizarre instances of open sea drownings in the past hundred years. Sounds extremely relaxing.”

“Oh, honey, vacation is a state of mind. And your mind certainly seems to be in a state at the moment. Everyone deserves a break from life, you know.” J.J. was still grinning but Prentiss knew her too well to ignore the insight there. God, she wanted to talk to her… really _talk_ … J.J. sauntered to the door again. “Text me if you want me to grab you some take-out, okay Boss?”

“Thanks,” Prentiss huffed as the moment passed. “And don’t call me that.”

J.J. giggled as she walked off and then Prentiss was once again forced to focus on the details of a dead, boho hipster that she didn’t care about while the love of her life was a thousand miles away and she couldn’t find a way to talk to him. She sighed and then felt a sudden flush of anger that gave her energy to shake off her inertia for a moment. She pulled her phone out and told herself, _Be bold._

**Prentiss: You around?  
…  
…  
Reid: Between lectures. Got about 10 mins. What’s up? Need help with something?**

“Yeah, I do, but it’s gonna take more than ten minutes,” she muttered and then lost all of her willpower just as suddenly as she gained it.

**Prentiss: Nope. Just wanted to see how you were.**

_Coward_ , her brain hissed, and now it sounded like it had J.J.’s voice. _Just work it out like everyone else. What gives you the right to think you’re allowed to fail here? You know there’s no room for that with you, Boss…_

“Stop calling me that,” she mumbled wetly. The Boss always had a plan. The Boss always found options. She wasn’t the Boss in this.

**Reid: I miss you - that’s how I am. Feels like forever since we’ve seen each other.  
Prentiss: I know.  
Reid: Are you okay? You usually don’t text during the day.  
Prentiss: Everything’s fine.  
Reid: Well, I’m here if you need me. Anytime ;)  
Prentiss: Thank you.  
Reid: Gotta go. Kids are filtering in for class. Talk tonight? Love you.**

She put her phone away as her stomach lurched again. Not the Boss in this, and she didn’t know who was.

\-----

Two weeks after Austin, she worked a brutal case in Dallas that stretched out for seventeen days. The whole team had been shaken by it, but somehow it snapped something inside her. Maybe it was the depravity of the case details, or the wide swath of victims they couldn’t save, or maybe it was that the press of leadership became almost suffocating this time and there was nowhere to turn for relief. The handful of texts and calls she had with Reid barely eased her at all. 

She was shaky and brittle as she descended the jetway when they landed back in D.C. again. The wind and the rain whipped her as she fumbled for her car keys. She sunk into the silence of the driver’s seat and just shook as the others drove off into the night, to their homes, their loved ones. 

_Where should I go?_

She couldn’t face her empty condo - it felt like failure. They’d closed the case, she’d got them all back in one piece, but she felt failure through every inch of her. She was alone and afraid and she wanted the care he’d promised her back in the beginning. Instead he had shut her out again, not with secrets but with all the things that she’d never be a part of. Maybe she was just done. Maybe this feeling was the end, finally.

She started the car and drove to his place without calling first. It was after midnight when she let herself in with her key and dropped her coat, bag, and shoes with soggy splats in his front room. The light was on in his bedroom and it didn’t surprise her that he was up and grading papers in bed, scowling slightly behind his glasses. He looked up when he heard her sigh at the doorway, shocked to see her, and then it melted into something worried as he pushed away his laptop and whispered, “What’s the matter?”

Her resolve collapsed, and her expression too as she stumbled forward and then crawled in beside him, clothes leaving damp spots on the sheets from the rain. She squirmed into his side and his arms were suddenly around her. He repeated his question into her hair and she just lost it, sobbing into his t-shirt like a scared child. It was wrenching and sloppy and she couldn’t stop. He curled around her rocking and shushing her, his heart hammering her head where it pressed into his chest.

“Emily… Emily,” he begged. “Please, sweetheart, please tell me what’s happened. Love, god… please don’t cry…”

She had to drain it all out of her first and it took a while. Eventually her sobs became hiccups and wet sniffles that she tried to wipe on herself and not him. He kept rocking her as she shivered, and he just said her name over and over again like it was a magic spell that would make everything right again.

“I’m scared,” she gulped when she finally found her voice though it sounded raw and alien to her ears.

“Of what?”

“Everything. So many things.” She squirmed into him so he couldn’t see her shame, her failure. “I’m losing it.”

“Emily,” he said carefully. “I can’t look after the wound if you won’t tell me where it hurts.”

“I’m… alone.” It was a lie and her face flamed against his chest. But it was also sort of the truth as well. “This case was hard. Too hard, too much. We got the guy, barely, but… it was all on me and… I nearly broke under it. The pressure. It took just two weeks…” _That’s not who I am… this isn’t who I’m supposed to be…_

“Tell me.”

“No.” She clutched his shirt. _I can’t._

“ _Tell_ me.”

“No!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re out!” she spat more viciously than she intended. “Because this kind of heinous bullshit is what drove you out in the first place. It’s what stripped you all away - all the people I depended on. Hotch, Morgan, Rossi, _you_ … I’m the only one stupid enough to stay. I’m the only one who can’t move on.”

_You’re moving on… why can’t I go with you? What’s wrong with me? If I tell you, you’ll try to fix it, try to force yourself to stay and that would be worse than if you left. The way you never wanted to look weak is the way I never want your pity._

“You all left me behind and I’m just STUCK there… unevolving… and the worst part is that I can’t seem to do it without any of you. I can’t change and I can’t tread water…”

“Emily, look at me.” He forced her chin up with his hand when she ignored him. He frowned at her, his eyes bigger than they should be with his glasses on. “What is this really about?”

“I can’t do the job,” she whispered.

“Wrong. Try again.”

“I-I’m failing… l-losing…”

“Failing at what? Losing _what?_ ” His grip on her chin tightened.

“Failing at leading, at mastering change. Losing us…” It trailed off as she tried to look away from him. _Fuck._

“Losing us? What are you talking about, Em?” His forehead creased with worry and color rose to his face.

_oh dammit, dammit, GODDAMMIT._

“You’re drifting away,” she said and then had to stop in order to get her trembling lip under control again. “Your life is so full now, full of things I don’t understand and can’t be a part of. I don’t comprehend the stuff you talk about and I’m afraid to talk about the things I _do_ understand, from my life, for fear of setting you back. Your friends are unsure of me, I’m not allowed to be a part of your NA process, you barely acknowledge that you were ever FBI and that’s the basis of our whole relationship…”

“Emily,” He hauled her up against him fiercely, pinning her to his chest and pulling her wet hair from her eyes. “I’ll scale back my studies, my workload. I’ll make more time for you-”

“No!” She struggled in his arms. “Don’t you see? That’s me dragging you backwards. I told you that you had to live for yourself, your wants, your dreams. And you are and it’s changed you and if you could only see how beautiful it is… but I’m not a part of that.”

“Yes, you are!”

She shook her head, soggy hair slapping her cheeks. “I told you when you got out of rehab that it would be like this, remember? I said you’d build a new life and move on, and one day you’d see that I no longer fit in it.”

“That’s only happening because _you believe it will_ and you’re subconsciously making that a reality!”

Her spine stiffened and she tapped into some old, lingering anger. “Oh really? Who cancelled on me four times last month because he wanted to stay late at the lab or he had ‘meetings’ or the Dean invited him over for BBQ again? How many Saturdays have I watched you and your study group talk in nerd-speak for half the day and then you run off to have dinner with Will and J.J. afterwards? When was the last time we went to the movies together? Or went out _anywhere?_ We’ve been doing this for over a year and we still text “When can I see you again?” to each other, like it isn’t assumed that we will. We’re ships in the night, Spencer! Once you get tired of sleeping with me, it’ll be done.”

He snapped his head back liked she’d slapped him and he blinked as if it stung. His mouth dropped open and then closed again without a sound as he stared at her, devastated. Her stomach clenched in a way that she was becoming used to and she tried to swallow, but suddenly her body rebelled. Her vision swam and her panic produced a tide inching up her throat that she knew she couldn’t stop. She wrenched herself from his arms and stumbled out of bed, lurching for the bathroom and just making it in time. There was no way to cover up the retching noises especially when she heard his bare feet slamming on the tiles behind her.

“Emily!”

She waved him away and let her body have her. It was no use fighting it until it had no more ammo to launch at her. It was humiliating. And weak and pitiable - the last thing she wanted him to see. She was on her knees hurling her future into his toilet, and all she wanted was to go back in time to that first night they were together slipping against one another in the dawn, so thoroughly in love and hopeful. But retreat was failing - losing. She’d have to face up to them now, breaking apart, and _deal_ with the future that was barreling towards her instead. His hands fell across her back, trembling as she hitched with a few last heaves. She felt wrung out and didn’t care if she was scaring him. She flushed the toilet and wiped her mouth and nose with tissue, sagging back into the vanity as she tried to catch her breath.

“You’re sick!” His body was right up against hers, a warm pressure to the shivering that always followed the upset. Her stomach gave one last lurch but she barked out a mental _‘cool it!_ and it obeyed for once. “What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t tell him - he’d stay and she couldn’t do that. It would be like blackmailing him. She shook her head sluggishly.

“It’s nothing,” she croaked. “Too much stress, too little sleep…”

His hands rushed all over her face and neck, like she was dying on him. “Emily…”

“It doesn’t change what I said in there,” she waved to the bedroom. “It’s all still true.”

“The hell it is,” he growled and then left the room.

_Huh. Didn’t expect that reaction…_

He returned a few minutes later and when he did he was dressed - shoes, pants, coat, everything. In one hand he held his keys and in the other a glass of water. He shoved the glass at her. “Drink this.”

She reached out shakily and took it, drinking the whole thing while he scowled down at her. It was unnerving. When she finished, he took the glass back and placed it next to the sink, then he reached out for her again.

“Can you stand, or do you need another minute?”

He was a real puzzle to her now but she nodded and reached for him as he pulled her to his chest. He looped a supporting hand around her waist and led her out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and towards his front door.

“Where are we going?”

He helped her into her shoes and coat, and the ushered her into the hallway before answering. “You think I’ve been avoiding you. I’m going to show you where I’ve been spending my time.”

He marched her to his car and even when she said she was too tired for this and asked him to take her home, he just stared ahead through the rainy windshield and ignored her. They drove in stony silence for thirty minutes to a part of D.C. she rarely visited. It was a strange mix of old residential homes and new commercial enterprises. Depending on which street you drove down, the homes could be dilapidated or sprawling. Many were classically American-dream beautiful. But all of them in that rainy night seemed like hulking shadows watching them pass with suspicion.

“What are we doing?” she finally muttered as he pulled to the curb opposite a home lit up with construction lights. A huge portable dumpster sat on the front lawn next to a battered but stately oak tree. He killed the engine and then turned to face her, his features outlined in the lights from the house.

“I’ve been lying to you,” he stated flatly. She blinked and clamped her mouth shut because her stomach was threatening again. “I haven’t had all those meetings and dinners over the last several months. I’ve been coming here.” He pointed through the rain-streaked window to the house under construction.

She shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“This is my house,” he said. “I bought it six months ago.”

She blinked at him and then peered at the house in the dark. It was hard to tell but it looked massive: an old family home back from a time when families had been massive.

“You bought _a house?_ How…”

“My lawyer finally found the trust Mom set up with William’s money. I tried to give it back to him but he told me he didn’t want it anymore and asked me not to contact him again. I didn’t understand that… he was so adamant at the funeral.”

Prentiss was a bit stunned which was probably why she let the next part slip out of her. “I paid off William,” she murmured.

The car was silent for a minute and then the driver’s seat creaked as he leaned towards her. “You did?” he asked. “ _Why?_ ”

“Some people only understand money.” She waved the memory of William Reid away. It was a lot of money but she didn’t miss it. Not really. She still felt it was worth it. “He would’ve plagued you forever for it… made you miserable. And you were already miserable enough. It was the only thing I could think to do for you at the time.”

“Em,” he said wetly. “You should’ve told me. I… I should’ve paid you back…”

“Fuck it. And don’t ever suggest that again.” She tried to sound determined even though she was just mostly exhausted. And she shook off how she wanted to bend toward him. “So, you found the money and bought a house with it. Why aren’t you living in it?” She couldn’t imagine him in such a huge place. All the things he owned fit snugly into his one bedroom apartment. Maybe he’d finally buy a new sofa. She hated that thing…

“It wasn’t ready until recently. Morgan helped me find it and I got it for a song but it needed a ton of restoration to make it habitable again.”

“So… you’re telling me you’re moving…” she said numbly. He hadn’t told her any of this. It must mean something. She just couldn’t figure out what.

“No,” he huffed, frustrated with her. “I didn’t buy it for me. I bought it for you.”

Her eyes zeroed in on his scruffy silhouette, the light from the house making the edge of his glasses glint.

“I’ve been coming here every free moment I had to oversee the construction. I wanted it to be perfect when I brought you here… showed you. I was going to ask you to live with me - here - us together.”

She just blinked at the rainy shadow of the house. She didn’t feel anything.

“I miss you all the time,” he continued softly when she didn’t speak. “Some days I can’t concentrate at all because of it. I hate waking up alone. I hate walking around the empty space I leave for you whenever you’re not there. Even when you come over and just fall asleep beside me when I’m grading things… it makes me feel… whole. I want that feeling all the time and I thought…” His voice caught. “I thought this was the answer.”

She still couldn’t feel anything but she was aware that tears where skimming down her cheeks falling away into the darkness.

“I can’t picture what happiness is without you. I can’t imagine what that looks like. But…” He took a huge, wet breath in. “If you fundamentally don’t feel needed, if you think I’m really drifting away and there’s nothing but the past between us… maybe we need to take a break.” He gulped hard and then his voice was shaky. “I thought it was obvious how much I needed you, how we fit together…”

She watched his silhouette sag, his head bowed down and his shoulders slumped, breathing in a stuttered way in the silence of the car. The rain patted at the windows and the car made odd ticking noises as the engine cooled. The quiet felt awesome, bellowing in its nothingness, and then suddenly, the words just fell out of her without her making a conscious decision about it.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. His head shot up. “I’m terrified.” And she was, but in that moment she was still just numb with it.

“A b-baby?” he wheezed. “When?”

“I found out just before I left for Dallas,” she said flatly, remembering that morning in her bathroom and the hour she spent sitting on her toilet staring at the blue plus sign and waiting to wake up. “Do you know… how impossible this is?”

Wonder crept into her voice for the first time.

“I only have one ovary, you know. When Doyle stabbed me…” She pointed like he was right there with them in the car. “Well, it was toast. They had to remove it.”

“Emily…” His voice sounded miles away.

“Do you have _any idea_ what the chances of a woman in her mid-forties, with one ovary, who’s competent with contraceptives, are of _getting pregnant?_ ” She breathed hard through her mouth because it was finally settling in - the awesome responsibility that biology and the laws of probability had placed on her.

He cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you with absolute accuracy but I can make a very educated guess. The short answer is it’s highly improbable.” He grabbed her hands and the warmth of them zapped through her, making her painfully aware that she had decisions to make. “I love you, Emily. _I love you._ ”

“Do you want to have a baby?” It barely made any sound. It just felt like her lips were moving and nothing else. And she couldn’t see anymore because the tears were uncontrollable and everything blurred.

“Yes!” he choked and then nuzzled into her wet cheek, breathing hard against her ear with his glasses poking at her face. “I want you, and this baby, and I want us all to live in the house that my father’s guilt bought. I want _my family._ ”

“Family,” she sniffled and curled a hand into his hair. _Somewhere to go, people who will always need you…_

“You’re not alone, Emily.” He kissed her cheek and then her temple and then into her hair. “I’ll never let you be alone again. I know you’re scared but I’m here with you. Let me help… let me help the way you’ve always helped me.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she meeped and then let the tears take her, leaning into him and letting them soak his shirt.

“Why not?”

“Because… I’m the one who handles things. I’m the one people look to for answers - I’m the damned boss. I’m the one who takes care of people… takes care of _you_ ,” she choked and was glad that he couldn’t see her face. “Didn’t want you to see me scared… didn’t want to shake you with it.”

“Oh, Em…” His voice sounded soggy.

“I… I didn’t want you to stay out of guilt, or pity, w-when you saw how lost I am. Just lost in you…”

“Jesus Christ, Emily…” he huffed halfway between a sob and a cracked laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her head popped up, cheeks sticky with tears, nose running, and righteously offended. “What?” she growled dangerously, but he just cupped her face and continued laughing gently.

“Because all that stuff you don’t want me to see are the reasons why I love you in the first place. You don’t let it out much but you’ve always let me see it, and that’s always made me feel special. So when I abused it, rejected it, and then got out of rehab and saw it was still there for me… well, you don’t need to worry about being lost because I lost myself to you that day.” He leaned forward until their foreheads bumped. “And when are you gonna figure out that it’s my turn to take care of you?” 

“You…” she choked. She was just a snotty, wrung out mess, not in the least bit impressive. And he loved her. _He loved her._ He was lost too… “What?”

“Silly girl,” he chuckled as his lips brushed her forehead. He was the only person who could reasonably get away with saying that. She’d rip the balls off anyone else who suggested anything close to it. And there was this secret satisfaction that followed it - that she _could_ be that with him, and that he saw her that way. Just a girl - full of promise, of potential…

The relief she experienced when she let go, let herself be vulnerable, soft, was almost too much to contain. She grappled him close and thanked every millimeter of the universe for him in that instant. She couldn’t have done this without him, let alone contemplate _what they were going to do_ with anyone but him. In time his lips moved to her ear again and she heard the smile when he spoke.

“Boot to the head.”

She guffawed, snotty and rolling and relieved as she grabbed him until it hurt. He chuckled along with her.

“Emily,” he hummed. “We’re gonna be all right.”

She nodded against him and closed her eyes. “I know.”

\----

They curled up in his bed, still fully clothed, and stared into the dark in stunned silence. Once the euphoria of the moment in his car wore off, they both seemed to fall into a huge chasm of “Whoa”. She supposed it wasn’t all that unusual a reaction to having the rug of reality violently readjusted beneath your feet.

Reid was spooned up so tightly behind her it was a little daunting. His heart bumped into her back steadily and his breath fluttered the dried mess of her hair, his cheek pressed to her neck. His hands looped around her with his palms flattened possessively across her belly. She didn’t mind that part so much - it felt like a tiny declaration of _‘mine’_ every time she moved.

“How do I…” Her voice croaked as she broke the silence, and she wondered how long they’d been there blinking in the darkness that it felt so unused. “How can I be an FBI agent _and_ a mom?”

He shuffled behind her, his arms pulling her microscopically closer. But he didn’t have an answer.

“Surely it’s just… one or the other, right? I mean, has there ever been a pregnant department chief in that organization?” She sighed, and then continued almost in a whisper. “I’m not sure I’m done with being Emily Prentiss yet.”

“You don’t have to stop being Emily Prentiss.”

“Well, inside I won’t, but everyone will see me differently. And to the baby, first and foremost, I’ll be ‘Mom’ and I don’t have any clue who that version of me is.”

“Why can’t you be both?” he asked.

“C’mon, Spencer. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not?” he shrugged and hooked his chin over her shoulder. “Seriously, what’s stopping you?”

“Well, let’s see…” she huffed at his benignly sexist blinkers. “Firstly, I’ll be growing a human being inside a body that’s only meant to house one person. It won’t be long before the strain of that makes me more than a bit useless in the field, and my job is _in the field._ Then there’s the process of getting the human being I’m growing _out_ and then keeping it alive. And that ‘keeping it alive’ business is still tied to my body even though the kid is newly autonomous an’ stuff. I imagine that is all extremely distracting from profile markers and suspect interviews and armed takedowns.”

“Em…”

“And _then_ there’s the fact that normal humans enjoy regular schedules. You know, family dinners, bedtime stories each night, school recitals and t-ball on the weekends. At least, that’s what I’m told. Nowhere in there is time blocked off for ‘Mommy needs to bag a serial killer’ or ‘Mommy can’t talk right now, she’s barreling down a freeway chasing a douchebag who kidnapped six women’. Also - and I can’t stress this enough - the one thing I’m absolutely certain about is that federally-hunted criminals do not book appointments with law enforcement in advance.”

“Your highly developed sense of sarcasm is always appreciated,” he mumbled dryly. 

“Well… this is serious. I’m being serious about how my life is about to drastically change, Spence.”

“And I’m not saying it won’t, or making light of that. Please give me a little credit. I’ve been thinking while we’ve been lying here too, you know…”

“Okay, Genius,” she huffed. “Dazzle me.”

He cleared his throat, and then placed a delicate kiss on her shoulder. She warmed to it even through the fabric of her rain-stiff blouse.

“Umm, well… it’s just a preliminary proposal…” He cleared his throat again and she felt his heartbeat speed up against her back. He was nervous. A tender part of her reeled her confusion back in and told it to behave. She laced her fingers through his along her belly.

“S’okay. Take your time and just tell me. I’m really listening. I’ve stowed the hormonal panic for the time being, I swear.”

He chuckled tightly and then sighed. “Okay. So. There’s not much I can do about the current process.” He patted her belly and then squeezed her fingers in his. “That’s all on you, I’m afraid.”

“Probably for the best. You’re a bit clumsy.”

“True. But once it’s out, that’s a different story.”

“It?”

“Should we assign it a pronoun? Are we at that stage?”

She laughed. “ ‘It’ makes me feel like I’m hosting a parasite.”

“Technically, you are. But I see your point. Universal application of ‘he’ it is until we know otherwise.” His heartbeat skipped at her back, then he continued. “After you’ve done all the heavy lifting to get him here, why can’t I take over?”

“T-take over? What do you mean?”

“I mean primary parenting… keeping him alive an’ stuff. It’s only tradition that dictates the woman do that. These days, with a little advanced planning and prep work, a Dad can do it.”

She found herself blinking. Sort of just… blank at his proposal.

“It sorta makes sense if you think about it. I’m the one with a regular schedule and a local job… well, relatively local anyway. The university has an amazing daycare facility for when I have to teach, and I can make my studies flexible, even work remotely from home if I have to. It’s not a perfect plan, I know, and it kinda scares the hell outta me right now, but we’ve got time to figure it out. And this way you can keep the job you’ve worked so hard for, keep the name you made out of sheer determination and brilliance.”

He shifted so that he could see the edge of her face.

“There’s no reason for you to stop being Emily Prentiss, and there’s no reason for me to stop being Dr. Spencer Reid. You can still be FBI, and I can still teach and study. And we’ll also become Mom and Dad. We’re adding a job title to our CVs, not erasing any. We can do this.”

She just turned and stared at him - his eyes huge, tired and shadowed but also sparkling with the excitement that caught her attention over a dozen years before. Her hand rose and stroked the side of his face, and he leaned into it and hummed contentedly. Perhaps it was the hormones or maybe it was the delight in constantly being surprised at how much she loved her goddamned best friend, but she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him. It was gentle, a soft press of lips, and a tiny sigh when they parted, but they both closed their eyes and wouldn’t let each other go afterwards.

“Crazy idea,” she whispered.

“That’s the story of us: one, long, crazy idea.” He brushed her nose with his. “We’re so close to being great, Em. Make this leap with me - I know we can do it.”

“I’m already there. I don’t have a great track record with turning down crazy ideas.”

They kissed again, and then he turned her in his arms. He curled around her in a new way, a luminous smile across him, and they spent the rest of the night staring at each other rather than out into the darkness.

\----

Dinner at Will and J.J.’s the following weekend became an impromptu celebration but not quite in the way they’d planned. They hovered around each other, circling like they were tied with invisible strings. There was no sense in hiding in front of J.J. since she knew _everything_ , and that got Prentiss to wondering why she’d never told anyone else about Reid. It had been over a year and there was nothing worth disguising anymore. Just another oversight she’d made while having her head firmly planted up her own ass about problems that weren’t really there. 

Reid had become a little more possessive ever since the baby revelation. It wasn’t overbearing; it was more like a low level current that ran through him now. He brushed his hand against hers as they sat on J.J.’s sofa, just because he could. He watched her play with Henry, the little boy perched in her lap and explaining the complexities of the Lego spaceship he was building, and there was a shy curve to his lips now, a flicker behind his eyes that suggested he didn’t know how to look away. He pulled out her chair when they sat for dinner, his hand drifting to the small of her back and his cheek brushing hers when she hummed her thanks. Prentiss caught J.J. staring as she placed food in the center of the table, and her friend just smiled and blushed, turning back to the kitchen to get the rest of the meal.

Reid chatted cheerfully about the food, his students, even the inscrutable course work he was studying, and J.J.’s smile got even bigger. Prentiss understood why: he was noticeably happier, and it wasn’t until she saw it in plain view that she considered he might have been hiding his own distress while she had been doing the same. No wonder why J.J. got so frustrated with them.

“So,” Reid announced to the table over dessert. “I showed her the house.”

J.J. sagged in her chair and let out a comically huge breath. “Thank God, Spence! Honestly, I don’t think you have a solid grasp on the concept of ‘pleasant surprise’…”

“Wait,” Prentiss said around a mouthful of pie as she pointed her fork back and forth between Reid and J.J. “You _knew?_ ”

J.J. nodded, blushing again.

“Sorry, darlin’, but we all knew,” Will added with a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth, I told him he was cruisin’ for a bruisin’ the longer he kept it secret. I mean, you can hide jewelry or a tv or somethin’ - but a house? C’mon man…”

Reid shot Will a look, but Will just winked and grinned back.

“I can’t believe it,” Prentiss huffed. “Snowed by my best friends.” She turned and gave Henry a mock glare. “Did you know too, Little Man?”

Henry giggled with delight and squirmed in his seat. “Do you like it, Aunt Em? Uncle Spence said I couldn’t tell because it was a surprise. It was real hard not to tell though.”

“Really hard,” she corrected and then ruffled his blonde hair until he complained. “And, yeah, I like it.” She looked over Henry’s head and gave Reid a quick wink just to see that flicker flare up in his gaze again. Then she turned to J.J. “But honestly, Jen, we had the most dramatic fight before I found out. I thought all the time he was spending there was… something else. You might have saved me all of that. I could’ve acted surprised when the time came…”

J.J. looked guilty and Reid looked like he took umbrage at the idea that anyone would ruin his perfectly disastrous surprise. Then Will laughed as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders good-naturedly.

“Well, y’all don’t seem worse for wear on that score to me. Yer flirtin’ it up like newlyweds tonight. Anyone would think you were expectin’ what with all this carryin’ on.”

Prentiss froze on the spot and Reid did as well. It took a beat, but then J.J.’s smile fell and her face went blank too.

“ ‘Member that, Jen?” Will continued unperturbed. “When we found out about Henry, we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves…”

Will looked back over all of them and realized he was a beat behind something. His smile faded as he looked back and forth between J.J. and Reid. “Did I just let somethin’ loose that I shouldn’t have?”

“Yes, hon,” J.J. said quietly. Then she looked at Prentiss, face lined carefully in hope. “Is it true?” Prentiss nodded ever so slightly.

There was a moment of silence, or near silence as Michael babbled next to his mother and Henry looked around the table completely confused. “What’s happening, Mama?” he meeped.

“Oh my god!” J.J. rushed from her seat and swept over to wrap her arms around Prentiss’s shoulders. “Oh my god… ohmygodohmygod…” It got wetter with each iteration.

“Mama?” Henry whined, worried by his mother’s reaction.

“S’okay, baby, it’s okay,” J.J. mumbled to her son, and then she pulled back and looked Prentiss square in the eye. She smiled brilliantly and her gaze was glassy. Prentiss started choking up just withstanding that look. Her friend seemed impossibly moved. And then Prentiss was clutching her close and trying to hide her tears as she was painfully thankful for J.J., and her honesty, and the unshakeable love she gave to everyone she cared for.

“I’m so happy,” J.J. mumbled against her shoulder. “So happy for you, Em… a _family_.”

“Dad?” Henry tried again for clarity. Reid cleared his throat and then everyone watched as he leaned towards his godson.

“Aunt Em and I are going to have a baby, Henry,” he said quietly.

Henry blinked. “Will you still play with me?”

Reid soothed the hair that Prentiss had previously ruffled. “Of course I will.” His voice cracked. “You’re my family, Henry, and I love you. Our family’s just gonna get one person bigger, that’s all. The baby will be like… another little brother. I hope you can help me out a little when the time comes… since you have experience with little brothers.”

Henry thought about that seriously for a moment, and then nodded in a solemn vow. “I can help, Uncle Spence.”

“Thank you, Henry. That means a lot to me.”

Henry beamed.

Then J.J. was moving around the table until she was next to Reid. He looked up at her, eyes shining and lip trembling as he smiled. Tears had made her cheeks pink and she choked out a chuckle as she stared at him, her fingers brushing his hair from his face gently.

“Spence…” she whispered, but it sounded like ‘love’.

“Hey, Jen,” he choked back, his throat bobbing hard to keep his composure. “Guess you were right.”

She made an upside-down smile as the tears continued to stream along her cheeks. Then she dipped in and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, holding him close for a moment as his hand rose to cup her elbow.

“I love you,” she said when they came apart. “This is everything I ever wanted for you.” She turned to look at Prentiss. “For you both. I couldn’t be more freaking excited if this were my own child.” And Prentiss believed her. She wasn’t jealous, wasn’t weirded out - she was just amazed at how thoroughly she was loved in that moment.

“That’s good to hear,” Prentiss said unsteadily as she flicked away a stray tear of her own. “ ‘Cause we’re gonna need all kinds of help.”

J.J. stood straight and gave tender looks to her children and then her husband. She placed a hand against her chest like she was trying to wrangle an immense feeling, and then she mouthed ‘I love you’ to Will, and he smiled and mouthed it back. After a moment, she snapped back into herself, wiping her face and grinning with mischief that Prentiss recognized.

“You got it, Boss,” she snarked and then ducked quickly when Prentiss tried to grab her with an exasperated, “Stop calling me that!”

And then they all picked up where they left off with their desserts and Lego aircraft and gentle looks across the table as a warm sense of family descended and bound them much tighter than before.


	9. Fairytale

“There are six types of quarks, known as flavors. Flavors include up, down, strange, charm, top, and bottom. Up and down quarks are the lowest in mass, while those heavier in mass tend to change into up and down flavors through the process of particle decay. As a result, up and down quarks are generally considered the most stable and common in the universe.”

Prentiss cracked an eyelid and peered out from the mess of pillows and blankets on the enormous bed. The room was dark - it was late - but the honeycomb lamps that she’d scattered around the bedroom when they’d moved in left a huddled, warm glow that wasn’t intrusive if you wanted to sleep. She thought it was better than night lights and Reid had been touched that she’d worked his fear of the dark into her design aesthetic and therefore nearly made it invisible to others. 

Reid had made his own nest out of the pillows he tended to collect like a hoarder, and was perched over their rim talking to the hump of her under the covers. A ponderous textbook lay open to the side that he appeared to be ignoring.

“Other flavors of quarks - strange, charm, top, and bottom - can only be produced in high energy collisions such as those in particle accelerators.”

His voice was soft and animated, as if he were telling a fairytale, and she found this amusingly ridiculous even if it had woken her up.

“Now because the universe enjoys balance, the opposite of a quark is called an antiquark, which makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Antiquarks, in a beautiful act of cosmic elegance, are much like quarks but with the opposite sign. Isn’t that neat?”

“Worst. Bedtime. Story. Ever.” She grumbled and closed her eyes again. “You know I was asleep, right? I wasn’t listening…”

“Says you,” he mumbled warmly and she hid the smile it produced in her pillow. “I know you’re listening even when you’re zonked out and snoring like a circular saw.”

“What?” She lifted her head and gave him a look. “I do not snore.”

“You do,” he grinned like it was the best thing ever. “Besides, it’s usually a reliable sign that you’re down for the count and I have a captive audience. I’m sciencing you up while you sleep.”

“That’s just creepy,” she pointed at him and sunk back into the pillow. Then she thought about it for a moment. That _would_ explain the info dump she unleashed about time bending around large cosmic masses in the case briefing last week. Everyone at work thought it was a strange case of ‘baby brain’. _What the…_ “How long have you been doing this?”

“Ages,” he huffed and waved it away. “If I’d managed to get headphones to stay on you without you noticing, you’d probably be halfway to a bachelor’s degree by now.” She was about to launch into _why_ he was messing with her head while she slept when he reached out and laid a hand across her blanket-wrapped belly, circling in slow sweeps. “But I haven’t been reading to you lately…”

He smiled and it broke her heart a little. They were on the home stretch with baby now but it had been a worrying pregnancy. He didn’t move, and yes, after a ridiculous amount of sonograms and tests and other invasive check-ups that a first-time mother in her forties had to withstand, they knew it was a _he._ The baby was growing at the expected rate and every test they could perform came back normal, but _he never moved_ and it terrified her. There was a weird disconnect inside that her maternal instincts didn’t understand. She tried her best to shrug it off in the beginning, but as he grew and the doctors threw more alarming theories at her, she couldn’t hide her increasing anxiety. Reid became volcanically angry at her collection of doctors and specialists, finally putting his foot down in her fifth month when she came home after a check-up that involved a casual discussion about fetal brain damage and just cried hopelessly for an hour. He wrapped himself around her in their massive new bed in their massive new house and growled fiercely.

“There’s a fine line between full patient disclosure and fear mongering. Where’s the concern for _your_ wellbeing, or the effect your sky-high cortisol levels might have on the baby?!?”

After that he bent his considerable intellect to the task of ‘understanding baby’, as she called it. He read everything he could find, reached out to leaders in obstetrics, and called any specialist in the country who would pick up the phone. He came with her to every appointment and challenged her doctors’ vague assertions or demanded to know numbers behind their doomed probabilities. In short, he became an extremely knowledgeable pain in the ass and she loved him terribly for it. But throughout it all, he refused to be anything but optimistic about the child. Even when he could see her doubt and worry, his belief never wavered, and somehow that became the thing that dragged her through everything. 

“Maybe he’s just _thinking_ ,” he said one day out of the blue, staring at her belly while she buttered some toast in their airy kitchen.

“That would be a relief,” she smiled and kissed him, hoping more than anything that their son was more like his Dad than anyone guessed.

After every appointment he reminded her of what they knew for certain. “He’s growing at the expected rate. His heartbeat is strong and steady. He’s alive.” Everything else was an educated guess, and as he repeated almost to the point of irritation, “Guessing isn’t science.”

So, reading to their son through her belly was just another way to convince her that everything would be all right. His almost mindless optimism was the way he took care of her.

She smiled as he flipped the page of his textbook idly and imagined him staying up late after she was asleep to whisper to his son about muons and gravitational field disruptions and quantum singularities. She thrummed suddenly with a feeling so powerful that if she didn’t know that her emotions were being exaggerated by hormones, she’d have sworn that you could measure her love’s physical amplitude.

Oh man. He totally _had_ been sciencing her while she slept.

“Maybe you should try a different story,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Hmmm.” He gave it serious thought. “Maybe. This textbook is on the dry side.”

She chuckled and wondered what he’d break out next as she readjusted the pillow wedged under her belly. Thank god she’d convinced him to buy the California King otherwise he’d probably be on the floor these days since she seemed to be greedily nesting like there was no tomorrow. He watched her shift, and then she ran her hands over the belly that made her feel more like a beached whale than human these days, and she emphatically _did not_ beg the baby to kick in order to drop her anxiety level by about a thousand points. Her fingers just skimmed over and over. _He’s fine, he’s healthy, he’s alive,_ she chanted in her head.

“What’s it like?”

She looked at him and his eyes were wide, curious. He glanced from her belly to her, and waited, his hair in an incredible tangle and his expression one of open wonderment. She took a moment and tried to decide how truthful she should be. His optimism was saving her and she didn’t want to crush that, but this was his son too and deserved her honesty.

“Most days it’s just mildly disturbing,” she said quietly and held his stare. He didn’t react, just waiting for her to elaborate. “I mean, he’s growing and I know that because I see it on the ultrasounds and my body is changing, but… I can’t feel him. Well, even that isn’t entirely accurate… I mean, we’re _connected_ \- I feel that - but it’s distant. Like we’re both floating around each other but never quite touching.”

Reid propped his chin on his arm that was braced on his stolen pillows, and his brows creased in concentration at her words.

“He’s like…” She thought for a moment. “He’s like a little moon orbiting inside me. He affects my tides and I hold him steady, but we never actually converge.”

Reid’s eyebrows rose and then his face brightened. “That’s fantastic,” he said with awe.

“It is?”

He nodded. “Life on Earth would be a lot less stable without the moon. It has a fundamental role to play in our oceans, magma displacement in the Earth’s crust, the length of our days and nights, even our stable planetary rotation. We need it, and it needs us otherwise it would just be another piece of planetoid debris lost to the whims of passing gravitational fields.”

He looked at her belly with new appreciation and then reached out his hand to rest against it. “Little Moon,” he hummed. Her affection amplitude spiked again and she blinked away her blurriness and covered his hand with one of hers. _Okay, Little Moon, you’ve got us in your grip now. Don’t let us down…_

“Tell him another story,” she whispered when she thought she could manage it without being overly emotional.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Close your eyes.”

She burrowed into her pillow again with a sigh. “Something with adventure,” she yawned. “Boys like adventure.”

“All right.” He went silent long enough that she’d begun to feel floaty by the time he started up again.

“Once upon a time…”

 _That’s better,_ she thought. _Fairytales are much better than physics._

“… there was a boy who wanted to be like everyone else. He wanted to fit in and belong, but he was thin and strange, from a kingdom that was on the opposite side of a broken mirror where everything was backwards and upside down. One day, he decided that if he didn’t fit in there, maybe he should travel beyond the mirror kingdom to a place where he made more sense. So, he said goodbye to his sad and graceful mother, the queen, and set off alone across endless open lands not knowing where he’d end up or if he’d be welcome when he got there.”

Prentiss opened her eyes and watched him, but he was staring at her belly, curled into his pillows.

“He traveled and learned many things because although he was strange, the mirror kingdom people had sharp minds and his was no exception. Though he never quite felt comfortable in any of the new places he saw, he was valuable wherever he went and made his way as best as could be expected for a stranger abroad in wild places.”

Reid wriggled a little like a dog trying to find a new, comfy spot to sleep in.

“One day he met a man with a mind similar to his and that man offered him a job. ‘This job is not for the weak’, he said. ‘It is full of danger and dark magic. The rewards are few, but there are few who can manage it. The glory will be everlasting for those brave enough to try. Are you scared, Mirror Boy?’ And the mirror boy was, but he accepted the job anyway, not knowing any better than to believe in glory.”

Reid took a breath, and then he turned to look up at Prentiss.

“The job was hard and frightening, but also exhilarating and the mirror boy did well. He made friends, he had adventures, and it was _good._ He thought he’d found his place in the great wide world. Then one day a girl arrived. She was fierce and brave and smart, and she wanted to do what the mirror boy and his friends did. Some didn’t believe she could, but the mirror boy saw her bravery in a way the others didn’t. Maybe it was his upside down backwards eyes, but he saw it and he didn’t doubt that if any of them were to achieve glory, it would be her. She scared him, because she was not only fierce but also dark and beautiful, but in time he came to know that she was also a little bit strange like he was. Though she quickly proved deadly on the battlefield, she was always gentle with him. He couldn’t believe his luck; when he reached out and called her ‘friend’ she reached back and held his hand. The mirror boy wasn’t naturally brave, despite his success in his many quests, but when he was with the little girl, she made him _want_ to be brave and he became so.”

Reid just watched her in silence for a long moment, and all she could feel was her heart beating steadily in her chest and throat and around the little person who hovered quietly between them.

“They worked together for many years,” he continued. “They fought many foes and won many battles together. And one day the mirror boy was no longer a boy but a man, and his friend was no longer a girl but a woman. She still held his hand and called him ‘friend’ but he grew arrogant and thought he knew all he needed to about bravery. He let her go and fought alone, sometimes winning and sometimes losing, but when he returned to the warrior’s fortress after each battle, she would still call him to sit next to her and tell her of his adventures. By this time she’d grown more than beautiful but he was still strange, from a broken realm out of time, and he asked her why she still wanted to hear his tales and share her meals with him. She told him simply, ‘We aren’t children anymore, but you are still my friend. No matter how we change, that never will.’ And when she said that he remembered what it was like to be a boy with an indefatigable friend at his side. He remembered joy and swore he’d never forget.”

Reid fell silent and then Prentiss found herself speaking though she couldn’t remember making a conscious choice to do it. 

“The little girl who was now a woman had always liked the mirror boy who was now a man. He didn’t know that his strangeness carried with it a light that lived deep in his chest. When he thought hard or worked a spell or triumphed in battle, the light flared brightly within him. It made his hair curl and his eyes sparkle… sometimes on cold winter nights it drifted out from his ears like mist. The others ignored it because it wasn’t useful like a crossbow or witches’ herbs were. They said it must be something the mirror people had, like cows had spots or rats had tails. Nothing special. But the girl knew differently. She’d seen a lot of strange things, but nothing so strange as the mirror man, and she’d learned to wait things out because sometimes the best battle plan was to be patient and not fight at all. So she waited to discover the meaning of the mirror man’s light, and she waited, and she waited until she’d grown into a woman. She had no way of knowing that his strange light was contagious, and that all of those years spent side-by-side on the battlefield together had addicted her to it. Like crops to the sun, she only thrived when he was close, and when he went away she was in winter. It wasn’t until much, much later that a wise woman named the magic for her: love.”

Reid blinked as she fell silent and he seemed at a loss all of a sudden. His throat worked as he tried to speak, and then he had to cough to clear it.

“He went away.” His voice stumbled and began again. “He went away one day to fight some great battle he’d convinced himself he could win alone. But in his journey he encountered a dark wizard who saw his weakness like a raven in a blue sky. ‘You might have defeated me, Mirror Man,’ the wizard hissed as he cast his spell. ‘But you forgot where your power lay, and now I will hide it from you for good. You will wander the world blindly, finding enemies all about you, and you will never, ever again find your way back home. The only way to lift the curse is to let go of the only thing you have left.’ The mirror man asked what that thing was but the old wizard just laughed and disappeared into a puff of smoke. And then the mirror man’s sight left him and he’d never been more afraid in his life. Alone, sightless, and without protection he scrabbled along the rocky ground of this foreign land until the dirt gave way to stones, and stones to boulders, and then boulders to cliffs. He climbed and stumbled and fell for weeks, living off bugs and rainwater where he could find them until he felt an opening in the cliff face under his scarred and bloodied hands. He’d found a cave and his relief was so immense that he resolved to stay there and defend it against all travelers. That was his home now and he forgot about the life he’d once had.”

Prentiss’s heart skipped against her ribs and she took over again.

“When the mirror man didn’t return from battle, his friend set out to find him. She asked everyone she knew, went everywhere they’d ever fought, and followed his trail like a hound after a hare. She traveled for years over many lands, but she never let up. She passed through towns and the peasants offered her money and treasure to stay and be their defender, but she refused, not because she wasn’t tempted, but because all she felt was winter in her bones and if she stopped chasing him to stand still she’d freeze to death. One day at the end of a long road she ran across a man who spoke of an evil that lived in the dark mountains over the horizon. The evil had driven the farmers away, their livestock had withered and died in the sunless gloom that ringed the black ridges. The man told her to steer clear of it - no one should seek out such pain and surely her friend had been that sensible. But the woman headed directly for the dark mountains eager to fight and perhaps die, because she was losing hope of ever finding the mirror man after so many years. She came to the cliffs with their grey light, grey grass, grey rivers, and she discovered a path no wider than a goat trail leading up towards the clouds. She climbed and climbed and climbed. She slept when she felt tired, ate when she was hungry, for time lost all meaning in this place with no sun and no moon to guide a traveler. She couldn’t imagine who would live in such a place and when the greyness threatened to close in on her, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the mirror man’s light. But the memories were harder to call up each time.”

“Suddenly,” Reid interrupted. “A voice rang out across the mountains. ‘Leave here now and don’t look back. If you do I will spare your life.’ The woman looked up and saw a withered man standing on the outcropping of a cave. His wild hair whipped by the winds and his eyes clouded by blindness. He was razor thin and changed, but even from a distance and in his rags she knew it was the mirror man. He was the evil she had to face.”

“She climbed up to the cave opening,” Prentiss picked up, her hand tightening over Reid’s. “And readied herself for battle. He didn’t see her - he couldn’t - but she spoke and hoped he’d remember her voice. ‘It’s your friend. I’ve traveled so far to find you again. Remember me now and the years we had together.’ But the mirror man shook his head. ‘I have no friends,’ he said. ‘I’ve always lived here on this mountain.’ She told him he was wrong, that he had a light inside him from another place, and that it was keeping her alive too. ‘Then prepare to die,’ he said. ‘For there is no light here and I don’t abide trespassers.’ They fought with great ferocity, using all the skills and magic they’d honed from years of dedicated service. The power of their dueling incantations lit up the sky for miles in either direction. They cast for days, both causing irreparable damage, and the woman knew she’d not make it off that mountain without a miracle. In the end, they both sagged against the rocky outcropping, too exhausted to go on, and she felt the chill that always lurked in her body start to overtake her.”

“But then, the clouds parted briefly,” Reid said quietly. “The grey mage felt warmth across his face for the first time in however many forgotten years. A memory came to him of a young, strange boy holding the hand of a brave, beautiful girl, and something in him, long lost, stirred for just a moment. ‘Why have you fought so hard?’ he asked. ‘It would’ve been easy to avoid these mountains as everyone else does. Now you will die, and for what?’ The woman shivered and her voice skipped when she spoke. ‘I came for my friend and I’d sooner die than let you live out your life alone and forgotten on this mountain.’ The woman took the mage’s hand in hers and he remembered everything - the mirror kingdom, his many battles, his life beside the friend he’d grown up with - and then even without his sight, he knew she was there and she was dying. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘This is my curse, not yours.’ She went cold in his grip. ‘So break the spell,’ she gasped. And he knew what to do.”

“What was that?” Prentiss whispered.

“He sliced his chest with his long fingernails and pushed past his bones and muscles down into the depths of him until he found his light, sputtering and neglected though it was. He ripped it free, and then he sliced open his friend’s chest and placed it next to her heart. He used the last of his magic to heal the cut and then he collapsed beside her on the cliff. ‘I had to give up the one thing I couldn’t part with, and now it’s yours,’ he said. And then his light flared brightly in his friend’s body. Her heart beat and her coldness receded. She rose up beside him and took his hand in hers. ‘Come with me,’ she said, but he shook his head. ‘I can’t. My strength is in you. I can’t even walk.’ She hoisted him up because she was never one to take no for an answer, and even as she did, his sight began to return to him. ‘Then I will teach you how to walk again,’ she said, and together they walked down the mountain. It took many, many months to reach to flat lands again, but when they did the mirror man had retrieved his memories and most of his strength. His light shone out of his friend day and night, brighter than it had ever been in him, and it was only then that he realized the purpose of him was to give away the very essence of himself to another, his best friend. Finally, that was how he fit in this world. They roamed the lands together, side-by-side as before, and he loved her as no other. She saved him when he’d given up and that’s the noblest thing a friend can do.”

Reid leaned towards her belly and brushed his lips across the blanket.

“You may think this is a far fetched story, Little Moon, but when you get here, you can judge for yourself if your mother isn’t all that because I swear to you, that story really happened.”

“Spencer…” It came out wet and she didn’t care. The pillow was a little damp under her cheek. Reid rose up, pressing the length of him over her gently as he gave her a soft kiss.

“You saved me, Beautiful Girl,” he whispered into her lips.

“It was an equal-opportunity rescue operation,” she smiled back, cupping his jaw and hoping she didn’t look as messy as she felt in that moment. 

And then her smile faded. Her expression creased in lines of concentration as she tried to understand what her body was telling her. Reid lifted away from her as if she were suddenly made of spikes, and glanced down at her belly.

“What was _that?_ ” he breathed in shock.

“I…I….” she stumbled. “Kicking? Maybe?”

“Oh, _wow!_ ” He scooted back down to huddle next to her belly again. His hands landed broadly on either side, and then he looked up with a brilliant grin. “Oh, Em…”

Prentiss just blinked, too shocked to do anything else, but her heart was racing. She didn’t want to give herself permission to hope, but it swirled around her, nipping at her edges, and Reid’s excited bouncing down the bed was making it harder to ignore.

_Little Moon, is that you?_

“I guess he really just needed a better story,” Reid laughed.

“I guess so,” she breathed, and then discovered that she was smiling. Her body had gone ahead and made her choice for her: joy. “I told you boys like adventure…”

“Epic tales at bedtime from now on,” he enthused and then wrapped himself around her as close as he dared, not wanting to miss a thing. Her fingers fell into his hair and massaged it absently.

_I have a son. You are fine, you are healthy, you are alive. And you are mine._


	10. Beyond the Mountains

She got home much later than she wanted, and so she went straight to Asa’s room to say goodnight. But it was dark and his bed sheets were half on the floor, stuffed dinosaurs and space toys littered all over the place; he had Reid’s sense of tidiness.

“Where are you, monkeybaby?” she murmured to herself, not panicking because the kid never stayed where he was supposed to. She headed back downstairs to the library thinking that the odds were good that she’d find both of her boys in the focal point of the house.

The library was lit softly, lights set into the tops of the ten foot high built-in bookcases deflecting gently up to the cream colored ceiling. She looked to the top shelf next to one of the large windows on instinct. It was bare but for the huddle of blankets - but it was just blankets, no tiny boy. At two and a half Asa had developed a climbing fetish that nearly killed both his parents. It wasn’t just being where he didn’t belong, it was that he often wanted to be eight to ten feet from the ground at any given opportunity. They tried to block his efforts and toddler-proof as much as they could, but when they discovered him curled up on the top shelf of a bookcase in the library and with no idea how he got up there, Reid threw in the towel.

“Maybe he misses floating,” he theorized as they both supervised their baby boy scaling the bookcase with a brontosaurus in his hand, darting back and forth ready to catch him if he lost his footing and praying that a child protection agency never found out about it. But Asa never fell, as steady and confident as a goat. It took Prentiss much longer to let go of her fear of finding her son on the library floor with his skull split open, but she did, and the shelf became permanently reserved as Asa’s nook for napping and playing and daydreaming. “God help us when he gets too big to cram himself in there,” Reid mumbled and smirked at his boy with an odd sort of pride.

Prentiss walked further into the grand library that was Reid’s joy. She expected to find _him_ there if not Asa. Then she wandered to the long couch she’d forced Reid to buy so many years before when she declared that his old, saggy one from his apartment wasn’t making the trip when they moved. Of the fights they’d had over the years, more than a few came from disagreements about furniture. Reid insisted on functionality, but Prentiss always growled, “Functional, but classy.” She won more often than not, and the library sofa had been a grand triumph. It was beautiful, but she also knew, given how often Reid napped on it, it was comfy as well. Now, she peered over the back of it and found her boys curled together like noodles, facing dying embers in the fireplace. She scrunched down and popped her chin on the sofa ridge, smiling as she watched them sleep, Asa’s tiny mouth open and pressed to his father’s chest as his father mimicked his son’s expression.

“Weirdos,” she whispered and thought her heart might burst at the sight. Asa’s eyes fluttered, and then he looked up. He stared at his mother for a long time, and then he smiled in a shy way he only gave to her. He quietly squirmed out of Reid’s arms and leaned up to her face, giving her a butterfly kiss.

“Mommy,” he whispered.

“Hey, Little Moon,” she stroked his dark hair and stared in wonder at her strange, amazing boy. “You should be in bed.”

“I know.” 

He copied her strokes with his own hand in her hair, the same shade as his, and he gave her a serious look. He was a serious child, smart and curious like Reid, but also quiet and emotional in a way that sometimes paralyzed him. When his feelings got away from him - and at four years old, that happened often - he’d become unbelievably frustrated and then shut down entirely like he was performing some sort of diagnostic on himself. Reid found the behavior upsetting but Prentiss would just scoop him up and soothe him, “Sometimes our feelings are bigger than we are. That’s okay, Asa, that’s okay. It happens to everyone.” There was no doubt that Asa was Reid’s son: they had the same passion for learning and they babbled together constantly, Asa asking endless questions and Reid endlessly patient with his answers. But Prentiss was Asa’s emotional anchor, curling into her and letting himself _be_ whenever she was close. He didn’t talk to her as much, but somehow the way he refused to hide how he felt around her seemed more necessary than words. And after a nearly silent pregnancy, she admired the kid’s consistency.

He looked at her with his wide amber eyes that neither parent could account for - startling and expressive - and then he nuzzled into her cheek like a cat. “I missed you, Mommy.”

“I know, baby.” She drew him from the couch and stood up. He wrapped his arms and legs around her as she stroked his back. “I always miss you. So much.”

“Are you back now?” Asa mumbled.

“For a while, yes.”

“How long?”

Prentiss closed her eyes and swallowed down the ever-present conflict about the joy she found in her work and her desire to be with her family. “For the weekend at least. Maybe longer. It depends on the bad guys.”

“Yeah,” Asa sighed. “Bad guys.”

She decided to change the subject; her immediate schedule wasn’t something she could do much about. “What did you and Dad do today, hmmm?”

“Organic chemistry.”

Prentiss blinked and then pulled back to look at Asa’s face. “What? Do you even know what that is?”

Asa nodded and brightened a little. “Dad said it was one of the first things he loved, after math of course.”

“Of course,” Prentiss smirked. _The giant nerd…_

“I don’t understand all the words Dad uses, and it’s sorta complicated, but I think I like it too. The librarian at school said I could get as many books as I want about it. She doesn’t think I’ll understand them though…”

When Asa said ‘school’ he meant Johns Hopkins University, where Reid had been toting him around since infancy. Technically, Asa was enrolled in a half-day junior kindergarten program at a local elementary school, but he was obviously bored there and already negotiating books at a junior high school reading level. Prentiss and Reid were currently at war with one another about whether to advance place Asa to a grade level in keeping with his intellect and interests: Prentiss wanted him to excel and challenge his mind, while Reid was openly terrified that they’d created another miserable child genius. But turning Asa onto organic chemistry wasn’t exactly going to make him crave finger painting and choruses of _Wheels On The Bus_ with kids his own age.

“I told him he can ask me about the things he doesn’t understand.” Reid blinked sleepily from the couch, his mouth curled in a small smile for her. “Hello, love.”

“Hey, you,” she winked at him and then turned back to Asa. “Well, that sounds good, but don’t expect me to understand a word, okay? My brains aren’t squishy like yours.”

Asa giggled and then raised his fingers to smoosh the skin across Prentiss’s forehead. “Squishy.”

“Don’t listen to her, Asa. Your Mom’s brains are plenty squishy,” Reid intoned warmly.

“I can teach you, Mom,” Asa batted his eyes shyly, as if he’d suggested something he shouldn’t. “I teach Michael about stuff all the time. Aunt Jen says I’m making him scary-smart, though I don’t know why being smart could be scary…”

“Aunt Jen is pulling your leg. There’s nothing wrong with being smart and I’m sure Michael is delighted that his best friend wants to show him what he’s learned.”

Asa smiled and then tried to cover it with his hand. Prentiss reached up and pulled it away: _don’t hide your feelings, Little Moon._ Then he yawned like the world was running out of oxygen.

“Okay, squirt, bedtime,” she murmured.

“He wanted to wait up for you,” Reid mumbled as he rose from the couch with a crack of his knees.

“I figured,” said Prentiss, and then waved him off when he rounded the couch to follow her. “I’ll take him.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m gonna head up to bed.”

They climbed the stairs together, Reid’s hand ghosting along the small of her back, and then they parted at the top. After ten minutes of arranging stuffed animals and space ships around her son in bed like a Roman phalanx, and a serious discussion about the possibility of banana pancakes for breakfast, Prentiss wandered down the hall to the master bedroom, tired but content.

“That was quick,” Reid said from the bed as she got changed.

“He’s smart as a whip, but his body goes through energy just like any other four year old,” she smiled at him as she slipped on an old Deftones t-shirt and rubbed moisturizer over her arms. Reid’s eyes followed her hands intently, and it made her flush with warmth.

“Thanks for Skype-ing in to help with this last case.” She pulled her eyes away from his and disappeared into the ensuite washroom for a moment. She wondered about her plan and hesitated, but then told herself to be brave. “It would’ve taken us forever to figure out the literary clues in the ransom notes,” she called back.

“No problem,” he said when she returned. “It was fun.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” she shrugged and turned out all but the honeycomb lamps. “It was sorta cool having the old work vibe back for a while.”

“I could consult more. I mean, I’d like that… I miss the job sometimes. Not enough to put up with the danger and freeform lunacy of it, but still…”

“Yeah? Okay, that’s good to know,” she smiled. “I could use a pocket genius in my arsenal.”

He laughed as she climbed into bed. “So, gonna tell me about the case?”

She shifted quickly, bracing his hips with her thighs and sinking into his lap. He gasped in surprise and his hands flashed to her waist. “I will,” she whispered and kissed him until he moaned in shock. “Tomorrow.”

“O-oh…” he stuttered when she let him come up for air. “Y-you’re not tired?”

“Sure, but I’m not dead, Spence.” She moved her mouth to his ear and licked the lobe into her mouth. His breath rattled out of his as if he didn’t know how to do it, and then he groaned when she licked the shell of his ear and blew on it. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

“Oh, Em…” His arms wrapped her up and then his mouth found her and pulled her to him like magnetism. “Every time you leave, you take part of me with you… and I’m not right again until you come home.”

She whimpered a little. _God, he was good at that._ Then she ground herself into him. Even with the blankets between them, his interest was already obvious. _He’s good at that too._ He pushed up into her, his hands tightening on her waist and drawing her down, and she flushed all over, pulling away from his searching mouth to gasp. She was probably going to leave a wet spot on the covers.

“Mmmmm, Spence…” she hummed into his throat and pushed his hands towards the hem of her oversized t-shirt. She licked his Adam’s apple, his collarbones, his suprasternal notch, and then she skimmed to the faded bite scar on his neck and sucked it until he hissed. He jabbed his hips up into her savagely and growled in a way that made her wetter than before; they weren’t going to last long but that wasn’t the point.

His fingers slipped beneath her shirt and then he gasped, “Oh, Emily… you had a dirty, little plan…” He pulled the shirt up over her unceremoniously and threw it away, and that was all she had between them. He growled again and tried to wriggle out of his t-shirt and boxers under her like a spastic centipede. 

“You came to bed to…” he husked, and she could hear his smile in it.

“To take you, yes. The Boss wants some lovin’. Submit to it.” She wrestled the blankets back from him as he freed himself from his briefs. Then she was back in his lap, sliding wet and warm across his hardness as they both cried out while trying to keep it subdued. She took his mouth and pushed into it hard, opening him rudely with her tongue, hand clamped to his jaw, rutting along him like something feral.

“Wow,” he huffed into her mouth a moment before he nipped her lip until it bruised. “This’ll put a whole new spin on our consulting dynamic.”

“One fantasy at a time,” she purred and then ripped herself from his grip and slid down his body with incredible speed. Her fingers bit into his hips and he stifled a yelp, but then it rippled free when she swallowed him whole.

“Oh, FUCK!” he gasped and twisted under her, completely unprepared. That made her feel a bit wicked.

“Language,” she mouthed around him and then sucked him in until she almost gagged.

“Sweetheart…” he cried softly, his back arching away from the pillows behind him. “Your mouth… so gorgeous…”

He did this strange thing where he seemed to both melt and tense under her at exactly the same time. His fingers fell into her hair trawling aimlessly as his cock pulsed on her tongue. She took him deep, sucking steadily, and then pulled back with aching slowness until he was almost out, spit-slicked and shivering at her mercy. And then she did it all over again.

“Emily…”

She flicked her tongue along the thick vein under him.

“Em…”

She pushed him to the roof of her mouth as she forced him forward, tighter and tighter.

“Em?”

His head brushed the back of her throat and she swallowed convulsively, making him whine as his fingers gripped her hair too hard and pulled her off.

“Em!” he gasped and then tried to pull her, blinking and confused, back to his face. “Baby, _please…_ ”

“What?”

“I don’t want to come in your mouth, sweetheart… and you’ve got me… really worked up already…”

“Oh, okay. Sorry.”

He pulled her close and kissed her deep, the kind of kiss that could melt you to your marrow. He dove again and again, soft but intensely focused, tongue slipping around her, probably tasting himself there. She moaned at the thought and felt her thighs get stickier.

“Don’t ever apologize for being this tantalizing,” he whispered when they came apart with a soft pop. “Christ, some nights I just can’t stand being in this bed without you…”

There was an unbelievable pull at the center of her that she knew well. She whined as it shook through her and made her powerless for a moment, then she was moving again, shuffling close and positioning herself over him. He fumbled, loud and clumsy, at the nightstand until he got the drawer open. He arched at a weird angle until he got what he needed, puffing with the exertion of holding himself together. Her hand flashed out and caught his wrist, holding his arm still with the condom clutched in his fingers.

“Don’t,” she whispered, and he blinked up at her as his brow creased.

“Why? Did you go back on the pill? I thought you were worried about the health risks…”

She took a moment, feeling heat line her cheeks as she flicked her eyes to his and away, over and over. “I didn’t go back on the pill,” she murmured finally.

His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. In her hand, his erection flagged a little as the implications settled over them. She let him go, both his wrist and his cock, but she nudged closer so that they were whispering and could only see each other; nothing existed outside of the momentary bubble they’d created.

“It’ll probably come to nothing. I’m too old now. But technically, there’s still a chance.” She bit her lip.

“Em…” he breathed.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay, and I really mean that, Spence. We have Asa and that’s more than I ever thought I’d get. I have my family and I could never be disappointed with that. You and Asa make me indescribably happy.”

“But… you want to?”

She nodded.

He held her gaze, his own dark and soft-edged in the dim bedroom light. Her fingers rose to graze the haphazard stubble along his jaw - he’d never be able to grow a proper beard and it was part of how he always seemed so deceptively young. She still saw the awkward young man in him every day - that kid who dismayed her and threw her for a loop when she first landed a job she didn’t feel she’d earned. Now he was the bedrock of her life, so changed but somehow still just that weird kid she thought was a riot.

He opened his hand and let the condom fall from it with a tiny plunk when it hit the floor. Then his hands were around her, flipping her onto her back in the creased covers and mess of pillows, sliding between her thighs and nudging her open a little. And he was resting hard and hot again against her leg. His hands framed her face as he watched her.

“How will I ever get enough of you?” he whispered.

And she smiled up at him like an idiot, a tear skimming back into her hair that he tried to thumb away as he just kept staring at her, entranced.

“This family is what I was meant for,” he added. “Do you know the chances that it would ever come to be? They’re minuscule.” 

“Well then, let’s see if we can buck the odds and add a little more to your plate.”

He leaned in and gently took her lips, roaming lazily as his hands curled in her hair. She reached up and did the same, slipping against him with quiet murmurs and caught breath, her hands making a mess of his already hopeless tangles. They weaved themselves together, pulses syncing and throbbing out of rhythm again with banked excitement, bellies pressed tight and pushing out breath they shared. They lost themselves in it for a time, and when he finally pushed into her she moaned, “There you are…” like she was welcoming him home. He went as slowly as he could, building them up as one like a rising tide. They hushed and whimpered against their skin, trying to avoid waking their son sleeping down the hall; trying to avoid the conversation that they were trying to give him a sibling. And when she came around him, curling and burying her bliss in his shoulder with her teeth as he throbbed relentlessly on, she didn’t care what came of it, only that he was in it with her. Afterwards, when she drifted off tangled up in the sheets and with part of him inside her, she mumbled “Mirror Man” and felt his lips against her forehead, kissing her into dreams.

 

Six months later she left a gift for him by his razor in the bathroom as she headed into the office before the sun rose. Her note said, _We’ve gotta make a battle plan, warrior. See you tonight - will try to be home early._

She was in a department heads meeting when her phone buzzed. There was a picture text: Asa, half out of frame, grinning and holding what looked to be a blurry toothbrush up to the camera. Under it, he’d typed: **Asa found something interesting in the bathroom this morning.** She couldn’t see the blue plus sign but she knew it was there. She stifled a laugh and then looked around to see if anyone noticed. And then she wondered, _Oh God, did he explain sex to our four year old today?!?_

Her phone buzzed again. He continued being ridiculous.

**Reid: I want a girl this time. Arrange the chromosomes accordingly.**

**Prentiss: LOL! I’ll get right on that. But it isn’t a pizza - you can’t send it back if it shows up with the wrong toppings.**

**Reid: I love you. Utterly. Thank you for your impossible existence. ******

She blinked back some unprofessional blurriness and clamped down her façade until it was airtight. She could be Emily when she got home, but here she was the Boss. She could be both if she were strategic enough - she’d proven that. 

**Prentiss: You are my purpose. By definition, that makes me possible. I’ll see you tonight, Mirror Man. I love you upside down and backwards. Always have.**


End file.
